


The Storm Inside

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Series: Inhuman!Fitz AU [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cabin Fic, Cabins, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fights, First Time, Fitz's POV, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Inhuman AU, Inhumans (Marvel), Injury, Kissing, Magic Fingers, Making Out, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, References to Depression, Romance, Sandwich, Season/Series 02, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Showers, Smut, Team Dynamics, Therapy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 116,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5039197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After something very different happens in Puerto Rico, Fitz wakes up to learn that he’s gained terrifying earthquake powers. Again incapable of controlling his own body, he closes himself off from the one person who is the most desperate to help; but this time, Jemma isn’t backing away from him so easily. This is the story of how Fitz becomes something he never wanted, and yet somehow finds his way back to the person he once wanted more than anything.</p><p>In which Jemma makes a stand (or five), Trip lives, Skye gets her agency back, and Fitz figures out where he’s always belonged.</p><p>A season 2 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Is your head spinning?

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to MK for betaing again, and encouraging me throughout the insanity that has been this writing process. (And in advance, for continuing to read the rest!) 
> 
> This diverges from canon as of the cave scene in 2x10. Please note that the point of this fic is not to replace Skye with Fitz, but to explore the ways this would alter the various characters' relationships. Skye still has the genetic marker, and her potential to become an Inhuman will be adressed.
> 
> The whole thing was inspired by [this ask](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/115638001933/do-you-think-simmons-would-react-differently-if) I got on [my tumblr](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com) last April. Dear anon, I can't thank you enough!
> 
> A gifset for this AU can be found **[here](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/131720741486/the-storm-inside-a-season-2-au-by-agentverbivore)**!
> 
>  
> 
> The general plot belongs entirely to the show, and there are moments throughout the fic where I use dialogue directly from canon. Obviously, I claim credit for none of that, or for the characters themselves.
> 
>  
> 
> Be aware that eventually there will be a number of explicit sex scenes, so if that's not your thing you might want to reconsider reading this AU.
> 
>  
> 
>  Chapter titles are from [Don't Look Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQEKH4r2Dbw) by Martin Guerrix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thank you to [eclecticmuse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse) for being incredibly supportive as I wrote this fic, and cheering me on when I really needed it!
> 
> A huge s/o and **thank you** to [adaughterofeve](http://adaughterofeve.tumblr.com/) for spending so much time talking over medical/injury-related questions with me. Although it's a relatively small part of the chapter, her help was essential, and she spent a lot of time & effort helping me out (even though she didn't know exactly what it was for!).
> 
> The fic explores a different path for season 2, but since my interest is primarily in FitzSimmons a fair amount of the S2b plot will be left out of the fic. Anything important will eventually be clarified, and if you have questions about what happens "off screen" feel free to ask me on [my tumblr](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com). (Although I reserve the right to answer with "Spoilers!")
> 
> I've also decided to try something new for this fic, where instead of making a whole playlist I suggest a song for each chapter. Sometimes the song's relevant tonally, lyrically, or... it makes me laugh. Could be any of the above, or all three. :-)
> 
> This chapter's song is [Long Way Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pD6M13pW-pk) by the Goo Goo Dolls.  
>                    _"almost human, but I'll never be the same"_

Darkness. Screaming. 

_Fitz’s hand almost slipped on the edge of the dark tunnel into which Trip had just vanished, and Jemma grabbed onto his sleeve, screaming after their friend to come back. He turned to her, eyes wide and heart pounding. “We have to go after them.”_

Being swallowed whole. Laughing yellow eyes, terrified.

_They ran hand-in-hand down a stone corridor, screaming for their friends and clutching each other lest they, too, disappear. Finally, they saw Trip wedged into an archway, struggling to keep the stone door from closing. “Get her out,” he yelled, out of breath, hands slipping against the rock and boots skidding backwards on the dirt beneath him._

Born again but broken. Walls crumbling.

_Fitz squeezed around Trip, into the room where Skye was crying, blaming Raina for the disaster that was upon them. Although he pulled her hard towards the entrance, she struggled, not wanting to let the girl no longer in a flower dress get away. Trip let out a desperate grunt, the door slipped another inch closed, and Fitz shoved Skye through the gap, knocking Trip out after her. The door slammed shut before he could even reach a hand through, and he could just barely hear Jemma scream his name._

Stones cracking. Silence. Footsteps.

_Raina sighed, teasingly lamenting his impending fate, but Fitz ignored her in favor of trying to pry the floor-to-ceiling door open – to no avail. Dirt gathered underneath his short fingernails, leaving shallow tracks in the stone. On the other side, Jemma screamed for him over and over again, he thought he heard fists pounding uselessly against the door, and Skye called out that Trip had run to get the explosives, that they were going to get him out of there. A blue light reflected on the wall, and Fitz turned, staring at the crystals that emerged from what had once been the alien obelisk. Thinking only that he needed to do something, he grabbed a nearby rock and smashed the crystals into nothingness. A pulse of energy threw him down, his skull cracking nastily against the floor._

_And then Leopold Fitz became something completely different_.

 

\------

 

A dull beeping faded into his dream, in which he’d been warm, happy, and laughing with someone whose smile reminded him of sunrise above the clouds, of tea and warm jumpers, of the feeling he had right after solving an impossible problem. Fitz tried to take in a deep breath but there were tubes stuck up his nose and he choked, twisting to the side of the hospital bed and convulsing as someone wearing large white gloves offered him a bottle of water. His hands – crusted in dirt and scabbed scratches – shook as he twisted off the top, gulping more than three-quarters of the bottle before coming up for air.

“How are you feeling?”

He recognized the voice, but just barely, craning his neck to see Jemma’s face peering back at him through the hazmat suit. Even through the plastic covering, he could see that her eyes were red-rimmed and dirt-streaked, as if tears had slithered down her cheeks through all that mess. 

Fitz tried to focus on her question. His brain had been so much better recently at finding the right words, but now everything seemed jumbled, as if the stones had taken them from him again. Most of all, he felt like a thousand bees were humming within his chest, swarming and pressing out as if to escape, and he could hear metal tables weighed down with medical instruments begin to shake. Lights swayed above him as he stared up, feeling everything move around him in tune to the violent buzzing inside himself, and he passed out.

 

\-----

 

The next time Fitz awoke, he was alone, and someone had washed the detritus off his skin, the clammy, claustrophobic feeling of clinging dirt now completely gone. Instead of sitting up too quickly this time, he opened his eyes and tried to take stock of his situation. Without moving, he could tell that he was in one of the Playground’s medical rooms, lights dimmed as if it was long past the base’s curfew. His muscles protested as he turned to the door, and cold darted through his gut when he realized that he wasn’t just in a hospital room: He was in quarantine, “DANGER” stamped in red letters on the door.

“Hey, Fitz,” came a voice from just outside of his view, and he twisted up to see Skye unfold herself from a metal chair on the other side of the glass. “How’re you feeling? Can I get you anything?”

Sitting up took him what felt like a long time, his left arm shaking and giving out halfway through. He swore to himself and started again, heaving deep breaths as he finally managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. “W-water?”

She pointed to the metal table next to his bed, which held a few medical devices and, most importantly, three full bottles of water. Fitz grabbed the one closest to him and downed the whole thing, thinking dully about how the IV dripping fluids into his arm didn’t feel like it was doing shit. Before he could think about answering Skye’s other question, a small bundle of panic shot into his line of sight on the other side of the glass wall.

“Is he awake? Is Fitz awake?” Jemma pressed her hands against the glass, eyes tearing immediately in relief as she saw him sitting up on the bed. He noticed bandages wrapped around most of her fingers, and wondered briefly what had happened to her in the temple that would cause such localized injuries. “ _Fitz_!” Not quite trusting his own vocal chords yet, he gave her a slow nod, but she barely had time to see this before she turned and sped to the other end of the glass wall. She started clambering into the hazmat suit, and Skye wrapped her arms around her stomach. 

“I’ll – I’m gonna go check on Trip, okay? I’ll come back when Jemma’s done checking on you.” Skye gave him a tiny smile, but Fitz frowned, needing to clear his throat a few times before he could actually speak. 

“Wh-where’s Trip?”

Skye cut her eyes over to Jemma, who managed to return a look that Fitz couldn’t see from this angle. “He, um, he was hurt pretty badly in the earthquake.” Her voice trembled, uneasy in a way that he wasn’t used to hearing his friend sound. 

Images flashed through his head of rocks crashing to the ground beside him as waves of something and yet nothing rolled unceasingly out from inside himself, and he inhaled sharply, fingers squeezing the edge of the mattress. _Did I...?_

“He’s getting better,” Skye continued, helping Jemma to secure her helmet, “but he’s... lost a lot of blood. Um, yeah. So I’m gonna – gonna go see him. I’ll come back, though, okay?” She waited for Fitz to nod before she gave Jemma another significant look and hurried away.

The quarantine door made a loud sucking sound as it opened, and Fitz realized that he’d been trying to adjust his gown so that he didn’t look quite so ridiculous in front of Jemma. _Stupid, stupid Fitz_ , he berated himself, tears forming unbidden at the corners of his eyes. _She doesn’t care what you look like because she doesn’t_ want _you_. He groaned quietly and squeezed the bridge of his nose, hoping that once he wasn’t so loopy he’d be better at burying those kinds of thoughts. In the weeks before Puerto Rico, he’d been doing pretty well; he was moving to the garage, and he’d managed to talk to her more than once without feeling like his heart was going to implode. But right now he felt raw, as if the walls he'd built around those feelings had crumbled to dust in the cave, and he couldn't figure out how to push aside the hurt that his best friend had abandoned him just because he loved her. 

“I’m very glad you’re awake,” Jemma said as she pressed the button to close the door behind her, the cumbersome white suit making her movements slow and careful. He made a noncommittal noise in response, eyeing the cart of medical instruments that she pulled over to him. Once she was standing in front of him, she gave him a tremulous smile, lips parting as if she wanted to say something but no sound coming out.

Fitz just watched her expression shift through the plastic, trying desperately to remember why he was so angry with her for leaving when all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms. _Stupid, naïve Fitz_ , _for falling in love with someone who’ll never love you back_. The walls began to shake again and he froze, a well of something foreign churning up within his chest, sending waves through his arms and out into the bed and then the building surrounding them.

Stumbling back, Jemma braced one hand against the wall as the quaking increased, and Fitz curled in on himself, pulling in and in and in on something he didn’t even understand, until the pain and anger disappeared within him and the building stilled. Except disappear wasn’t the right word, not quite, because although when he lifted his head nothing else shook, he could feel it roiling untamed within himself, unpredictable, untested, unknown.

“Thank goodness,” Jemma breathed, straightening again and turning to see him lift shakily from his defensive position on the bed. “It’s over, there’s nothing to be afraid –”

“I wasn’t afraid,” Fitz snapped, knowing that – for once – he was lying.

 

\------

 

Quarantine felt an awful lot like being back in the early days of his recovery after the pod, as if he was yet again trapped in his own head rather than in a bullet-resistant glass-walled cell. Jemma hovered around the room like she didn’t trust him to be able to breathe on his own, and he felt familiar resentment build in his chest. Sometimes he’d snap at Jemma and he’d catch this look on Skye’s face, like he’d hurt her, too. Nothing he did was right, and the whole base was on edge.

No one would say it to his face, but they were all worried about Trip, whose wounds were proving more resilient than they’d like. But he couldn’t get a straight answer from anyone, only just managing to ascertain that Trip’s injuries had been sustained when he’d thrown himself over Skye and Jemma in the caves. When Fitz pressed her, Jemma told him that she didn’t believe their friend had any significant head injuries, at least, but he knew as well as she did that they wouldn’t know for certain until Trip was finally out of surgery and awake. Fitz had returned to staring blankly at the ceiling after this, mutely letting her take blood and managing to keep the tears at bay until she was gone. Something inside him knew that this was all his fault, and he was terrified to admit that to himself – let alone tell anyone else.

Finally, two days after they’d returned to the base from Puerto Rico, Trip woke up. There was a large commotion along the other end of the hospital wing and Fitz pressed himself against the glass, desperately hoping that something hadn’t gone wrong. Minutes ticked agonizingly by as he heard Jemma’s voice snapping orders that he couldn’t make out, but no one passed by his quarantine bay. Suddenly, Skye burst in from the door next to him and he practically threw himself against the glass, calling her name.

“What’s going on?!”

She skidded to a stop by his door, turning to give him a teary smile. “Trip’s awake,” she breathed, and then ran off to complete whatever duty to which she’d been assigned. Fitz collapsed into the visitor chair, dropping his face into his hands and letting out a few, brief sobs of relief. Later, when Jemma came by to draw blood, she told him that Trip would be under observation for a few days, but, as long as he was careful, he would make a full recovery.

“It’s the best news we’ve had in days,” she said shakily, marking down Fitz’s vitals, her movements clumsy in the bulky hazmat suit. 

Fitz studied her for a moment, twisting his fingers together in his lap. They’d brought him pajamas the day before, so at least he wasn’t wearing the ridiculous hospital gown anymore. “Did something else happen?”

Glancing outside the quarantine, as if she was checking for someone, Jemma shook her head. “I didn’t want to say anything, not while you’re....”

“I feel bloody fine, Jemma,” he bit out, irked again by her insistence on treating him like a child.

The plastic suit didn’t hide her flinch, and she dropped her gaze to her clipboard. “Bobbi said... she stayed behind to clean up after the earthquake, and she said that Raina was... different.”

Cold slithered into his stomach. “How?”

“Her face was hidden, but – Bobbi barely got out of there alive. She saw Raina rip four agents to pieces with her bare hands.” Looking up at him with wide eyes, Jemma pursed her lips. “I’m afraid whatever that obelisk thing was, it did something terrible to her. That’s why you’re in here – to make sure you didn’t catch it.”

His mouth felt ashy, and he tried to hide the ordinary tremors that rolled into his left hand by pushing his fist into the hard hospital mattress. “Did we catch her?”

Jemma shook her head. “But Bobbi did manage to shoot her arm. We have blood samples that I’m testing – the analysis should be ready soon.” Storing the last of her instruments in a cabinet, she paused and then turned back to look at him. A glare from the fluorescent light obscured her expression, which made Fitz nervous. “If you want, I can... I can bring the results in here. To, um, maybe look over together.” His mouth dropped open and he swallowed, giving her an eager nod, but before he could voice his assent she continued. “If you’re feeling well enough, that is.”

“I feel fine,” he muttered, dropping his gaze again and crossing his arms. The ever-present buzzing in his chest grew stronger as he watched her slide through the glass doors, and he thought he saw a ripple in the surface of his water bottle.

 

\------

 

Although Mack had come by earlier to drop off a PSP and a couple games, he hadn’t stayed for long, dismissing Fitz’s queries about how he was doing after having returned from his alien possession. To be fair, Fitz hadn’t pressed him, as he was currently acutely aware of how easy it was to feel annoyed by the near-constant press of other peoples’ concern. His next visitor surprised him, however, her presence first announced by the appearance of a candy-striped grocery bag around the corner of the medical pod.

“Quarantine survival kit,” Bobbi said with a smile, blonde curls bouncing as she nodded to the airtight drawer inside the room. Initially only following her with his eyes, Fitz stretched slowly out of his resting position on the bed, PSP lying unopened next to him as he’d sat there in silence. Even though he’d barely moved more than a few feet from his hospital bed since waking up, he was exhausted all the time, all of his energy devoted to repressing whatever it was that buzzed aggressively every time he felt anything other than boredom.

As the specialist folded the bag so that it would fit in the compartment, Fitz studied her face, trying to get a read on what she was actually doing here. But when the air seal clicked on and she met his gaze with an encouraging smile, he couldn’t draw anything from her other than support. While he rummaged through the bag, Bobbi started talking again, and he noted drily that this was probably more than she’d said to him since arriving at the Playground.

“Charger for the PSP, ‘cause I’m willing to bet that Mack forgot it, a few magazines –” 

“The monkey special!” He couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice as he pulled out the double-length National Geographic special issue. It had come out two days ago, and he’d had the release date noted for weeks to make sure he remembered to pick up a copy. Of course, his quarantine had made that impossible. “Where’d you get this?”

She tilted her head matter-of-factly behind her. “7-Eleven ‘round the corner. I checked with Simmons to see what you like.” Something warm bloomed in the pit of his stomach before he could reign it back in, and the table in front of him shivered as he pushed the feeling back down. “There’s some granola if you feel like eating healthy –” Fitz let out a small snort, pushing the plastic container aside, and Bobbi chuckled. “– And a whole bunch of candy bars and pretzels if you don’t.” Digging through the food, he crooked an eyebrow as he raised a soda can in between them. “Cactus cooler,” she explained, giving him a small shrug. “I keep a stash – you can only get it in California, and it’s the best.”

There were a few seconds of silence as he finished unpacking the items on the table, and then set aside the bag to be decontaminated. “Anyway, I’ve been in quarantine before.” Her voice was quiet, drawing his attention back to her face. “I know it can drive you absolutely nuts.”

Much to Fitz’s surprise, for the first time since waking up in here someone seemed to understand (in at least a minor way) what he was going through. A modicum of tension released from his shoulders. “Thanks,” he muttered as sincerely as possible, “uh, Agent Morse –”

Bobbi let out a small bark of laughter, waving her hand at him. “We just survived a hell of a mission together, Fitz, I think we’ve graduated to first names. Bobbi’s fine.”

He nodded, folding his arms across his chest. “Right. Um, thanks then, Bobbi. This is....” Gesturing vaguely around the room, he sighed. “Y’know, weird. I feel like – like a leper, or... a caged animal that, um, everyone tries not to stare at.” 

“Are you kidding?” Her voice was incredulous, brows furrowing as she studied his closed-off stance. “You saved Skye’s life, helped destroy that obelisk thing before it took everyone down – and you survived a big-ass earthquake on top of that. _And_ you managed to get through whatever the hell turned Raina into a monster,” she said, shaking her head in what seemed to be genuine awe. “Leper? I think you’re a rock star.”

For the first time in he-couldn’t-remember-how-long, a minute smile ticked up the corner of his mouth. A part of him knew that she was just trying to make him feel better, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same – especially from someone who was normally rather intimidating.

“Fitz, it’s a nightmare,” came Jemma’s voice from around the other side of the quarantine, eyes glued to her tablet. She glanced up to see the two of them staring at her, and she stopped short, gaze flicking between the two of them. “Oh! Agent Morse! I – I’m sorry, I didn’t... I’ll just....” 

“How many times,” Bobbi sighed into a grin, “have I told you to call me Bobbi?”

“Are those Raina’s results?” Fitz started tapping his fingers against his arm, anxiety having wormed its way into his stomach the second that he heard Jemma approach.

Glancing one more time at the specialist, she nodded, her brows drawn together in concern. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she breathed, pressing the face of the tablet against the glass so he could read it. “The entire structure of her DNA has changed,” she said, turning to Bobbi as Fitz tried to decipher the computer’s analysis. “It’s as if something was _added_ throughout its structure, and that shouldn’t be physically possible!”

“So what does that mean?” Bobbi’s voice had smoothed back into her normal, analytical tone, expression just as worried as Fitz’s own.

“Honestly, I don’t know. But if she’s truly become a bloodthirsty monster as you said, and if I understand these results, it’s likely that her condition isn’t reversible. We might have no other choice than to....” Jemma trailed off, glancing self-consciously between the two of them. 

“Put her down?” The specialist’s tone was even, but her eyebrow quirked up in a modicum of surprise. 

“No,” Jemma rushed to answer, cheeks flushing as she dropped her gaze from Fitz’s steady one. “Just... it may not be the worst option. Especially if her condition is potentially contagious.” She gave him a weak smile. “I’ve already got tests running on old and new samples of your blood, Fitz, just to make sure that it hasn’t contaminated you.” 

Even though he hadn’t let himself admit it yet, Fitz was terrified that whatever had briefly consumed both him and Raina in the temple had already had its effect on him. The floor underneath them gave a sharp lurch. Pinching his nose between his fingers and thumb, he closed his eyes and turned away from the tablet she still held against the glass. 

“Y’know, Jemma, I think... I’m not feeling great right now, to be honest. Maybe we shouldn’t....”

“Oh,” she murmured, and he didn’t miss the note of disappointment behind her next words. “No, of course, we don’t – that’s fine, I’ll, um, just come back later, for your tests.” There was another pause, and then he heard her distinctive footsteps hurry away from his room.

Opening his eyes just in time to see Jemma disappear into the hallway, Fitz took in a slow, deep breath, taking a few moments to realize that Bobbi was still watching him. When he met her gaze, she ducked her head in a quick nod. “I’m gonna go check in with Coulson. Let me know if you need anything, ‘kay?”

Fitz gave her a terse nod, and ignored the way she flashed a knowing glance in the direction that Jemma had disappeared before striding away. As much as he was angry with Jemma right now, for a whole host of complicated reasons that he refused to analyze, he still didn’t think that she’d be able to kill him if he proved to be some sort of contagion. Would she?

 

\------

 

The best visit Fitz received that day was a few hours later, when Trip wheeled himself over to the quarantine room. White bandages poked out from under his hospital gown, and he had a panoply of cuts and bruises that were covered over with smaller plasters, but his smile was just as wide and infectious as ever. 

“Trip!” Fitz slid his legs over the side of the bed as Trip’s feet bumped against the glass, causing him to bounce back a little. 

“Hey, man! Wanted to see how you were doing.”

“ _Me_ ,” Fitz scoffed, peering through the glass at his friend’s bandages. “Are you even allowed to be out of bed yet?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “Simmons has me on a bunch of pain medications – and I’m not allowed to leave the hospital wing without supervision.” He paused, glancing surreptitiously over his shoulder. “Actually, I’m not really allowed this far away, and I think the nurse just noticed I’m gone.” Fitz chuckled and crossed his arms. “But I just wanted to come over here and say thank you.”

“For what?”

Trip stared at him incredulously for a moment and then shook his head. “For saving my life – our lives.” When Fitz made a dismissive noise, Trip just shushed him. “Yeah, you did. If you hadn’t run in to grab Skye, who knows what woulda happened – I could’ve gotten crushed by that damned door for all I know.” Dropping his gaze, Fitz frowned, digging his thumb into the palm of his left hand. “I know it’s gotta suck to be stuck in here,” Trip continued, “but just remember that you’re a hero, okay?”

Fitz glanced up as the silence stretched on, eyes landing on the fist that Trip was now holding against the glass. He gave Fitz a pointed look, and then, unable to help a small grin, Fitz slapped his palm in a high-five against the window wall. An indistinct, agitated voice approached from the other side of the hospital wing as Trip burst into a hearty laugh.

“Alright man, I’ve gotta go before the nurse threatens to shackle me to the bed.” Clumsily backing up into a table before turning the wheelchair properly, he nodded once more at Fitz. “I’ll come back soon as I can.”

Giving his friend a brief smile, Fitz watched as the wheelchair disappeared from sight and tried not to feel too disappointed that he couldn’t have stayed longer.

 

\------

 

One night in quarantine, Fitz dreamed of being back in the pod at the bottom of the ocean. But water was within the pod already, and Jemma had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. As he begged her to go, to leave him, she only held tighter and tighter, and he could feel his lungs collapse under her hands, ribs caving in at the push of her fingers. Something burst out from his chest, something all consuming, and she disintegrated with the force of it right in front of him, and he screamed and screamed and screamed.

When he woke up gasping for breath, he would have sworn that salt water filled his lungs, and he leaned over the side of the bed to vomit. He didn’t realize until he wiped his mouth clean on the back of his hand that the room around him was shaking.

 

\------

 

“Climbing the walls yet?”

Fitz looked up from his National Geographic special to see Skye grinning at him, sleeves pulled down over her hands and hair tied messily back. Giving her a wan smile, he held up the magazine. “I’m on my fourth re-read of this, so – yeah.”

“Well, have no fear, the answer to your boredom is here!” He gave her a droll look as she pulled open the secure compartment. “Yes, that _is_ what I meant to say, and no, I haven’t been reading Dr Seuss.”

“I was going to suggest Shel Silverstein, but Seuss works, too,” he joked, earning him a laugh from her. Pulling open his side of the drawer, he furrowed his brows as he lifted out the black, rubber cuff. “Your activity tracker?”

“Yeah, it went all wonky during the earthquake and I can’t get it going again.” She winced, pushing a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “And I may have made it worse by trying to fix it myself.” 

Grabbing the small tool kit she’d provided – presumably stolen from his workstation – he groaned. “ _Why_ would you try to fix it yourself?” He sat down at the room’s sole table and started laying out what he’d need. “Last I checked, you didn’t have a degree in any kind of engineering – or anything, actually.”

“Hey,” she exclaimed, “low blow! I just, y’know, you’ve got stuff going on, and I didn’t –”

“Yeah,” he deadpanned, unscrewing the back of the monitor. “You wouldn’t believe how busy I am in here.”

“Fitz, you know what I mean.”

“Honestly, I’ve been dying for – um, for something like this.” He glanced up at her and shrugged. “I feel bloody useless being locked in here without my tools or anything.”

“You’ll be out of here soon,” Skye said firmly, although Fitz thought he detected a note of false confidence behind her words. “Jemma said your results will be ready any time now, and then you can finally –”

“Not be in a bloody cage.” He muttered the last, and she sighed, looking around for a chair and pulling it up to watch him work. They chatted about inanities for a few minutes, veering from base gossip (Skye was ninety percent positive that Hunter and Bobbi were shacking up) to the trailer of the upcoming _Paranormal Activity_ film (that she claimed she’d be too scared to watch, but Fitz knew better). Finally, he was able to fix Skye’s misguided attempts at fixing the tracker herself, and he held it up for her to inspect. “I’ll try it on myself,” he said, sliding the band around his left wrist, “make sure it works, and then put it in decontamination for you. Should be ready....” Fitz trailed off, staring at the reader; for a moment, he would have sworn that he stopped breathing. 

“What?” Skye stood, crossing her arms and scooting as close to the glass as she could get. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s um....” Fitz blinked back panicked tears, shaking his head rapidly from side to side. “It’s not – I must’ve done something with the... with the, uh....” He let out a noise of frustration and waved his hand in her direction. “Gimme another minute.”

As he ripped the band off his wrist and unscrewed the back, he could feel Skye’s eyes tracking his movements. “Hey, take your time, it’s not –”

“There,” he snapped, having finished the only adjustment that could be making the read-out so incorrect. “I’m done, you don’t have to – have to, ah – to coddle me!” He exhaled, ducking his head and feeling anxiety creep warmly up the back of his neck. After shakily reassembling the monitor, he slid it onto his wrist and hoped desperately that he’d fixed what was wrong. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the button and waited for the numbers to appear, and to his horror they kept going up... and up... and up....

“ _No_ ,” he cried out, unable to stop the wave of panic that washed over him as he scrambled to get the thing off his wrist and toss it angrily onto the table. His head snapped up as the overhead light started to sway, and small items around the room began to shake. “No, no, no...” he muttered, reaching up to hold his head in his hands, fingers pressing hard into his skin as if that would contain the otherworldly something that was pulsing out of his body.

Skye was saying something but he didn’t hear her, and he dimly noted the way she was contorting herself against the glass to see the read-out of the vitals monitor where it had fallen on the table. “Holy shit,” she breathed, “Fitz –”

“It – it’s nothing,” he stammered, looking up at her with teary eyes and shaking his head frantically. “Must be – must be my, my head, again, it’s not – ah, it’s jumbling together –”

“It looks right again,” she said, speaking over him as she leaned against her chair, stumbling from a particularly strong quake. “That’s not how it looked when it was broken... I mean, holy _shit_ Fitz, if that’s your heartrate –”

“N-no, it can’t be –”

“That’s _inhuman_.”

“No!” He cried out again, and strong wave of _something_ burst out from his chest, making the light above him short out and then explode in a hail of sparks and glass. Skye was frozen, both hands pressed against the glass as if she wanted to punch her way through to get to him, and he couldn’t move because he was sobbing too hard. This was why he hadn’t slept in days, having been kept awake by the knowledge that something new had made its home in his chest and he had no idea what it was, how to control it, or how to make it go away. The obelisk had turned him into a monster and now everyone would know. 

“Good lord, that took long enough,” came a familiar, chipper English accent. The shaking was shocked into cessation as Fitz flicked his eyes up to see Jemma round the corner, her eyes focused on her tablet. “Your results are _finally_ ready, and I thought you might like to see....” Her voice trailed off at the sight of the destruction inside the quarantine room, and then she took in Skye’s frightened expression and the tears rolling down Fitz’s cheeks. “What happened?!” 

“Nothing –”

“It’s my fault,” Fitz interrupted, shooting Skye a look. “Having a bad day – you know how I, ah, I can be.” 

Jemma narrowed her eyes at the shattered light fixture. “I know you have something of a temper, Fitz, but –” A _ding_ from her tablet drew her eyes, and her lips twitched into a tight smile. “Ah, yes, here it is....” She trailed off again as she stared at the read-out, eyes widening in horror.

“What’s it say, Jemma?” Fitz inched closer to the glass, desperately wishing he could look over her shoulder as he used to do. A tremor rumbled through the room, and she snapped her gaze up. Her eyes bored into his, the dilation of her pupils hiding the inner ring of gold that he usually found so bewitching, and her jaw worked silently. “What does it say?” His voice edged into panic, his fingertips pressing into the cold glass. 

“Jemma,” Skye tried, reaching one hand towards her friend. “Can I see –?” But before she could finish, Jemma pushed the tablet into the other woman’s arms and sprinted out of the room as fast as she could go.

Objects all around the hospital wing began to shake as Fitz dropped onto the edge of the visitors’ chair, desperately trying to blink back the tears that threatened yet again. “It’s all different,” he rasped out. “My DNA. Isn’t it?” 

Skye peered at the tablet, hesitantly making a few taps and then letting out a frustrated sigh. “Honestly, I don’t understand this at all, can you...?” She flipped the tablet around and pressed it against the glass, but Fitz hadn’t really needed to see it to confirm his worst fear. Although the new pattern was unique and not identical to the way that Raina’s DNA had changed, it was vastly different from his old sample.

He nodded, face crumbling as he tightened his hold on himself and dropped his gaze to his feet. “I’m a monster,” he whispered, tears beginning to leak out of his eyes once more, and the room trembled. 

“Hey, no you’re not!” Skye lowered the tablet, brows creased as she stared at him, but he shook his head.

“You don’t know that.” The floor gave another violent lurch, and he suddenly remembered that the shaking had begun in the temple after the obelisk had thrown him onto the floor. With utmost certainty, now, he knew that _he_ had caused all of that destruction – he wasn’t just a monster, he was a ticking time bomb. 

Fitz was yanked out of his thoughts as the quarantine door made a loud whooshing sound, and he snapped his gaze up to see Skye at the side of the pod, hand pressed to the release button. “What?! No, Skye, what’re you –”

“I may not have any _degrees_ ,” she said, pointedly drawing out the last word, “but I’m pretty sure that DNA doesn’t work like that. You can’t, like, cough, and change my DNA.”

He backed away from her, hands held palm out, as if that would keep her away from him, away from harm. “But... but we don’t... that’s really Jemma’s –”

Striding over to him, she held the tablet out towards him. “Is there anything else on here that says you could be contagious?”

After flicking his eyes between her and the tablet for a few seconds, Fitz reached out and took it from her with shaking hands. The walls shivered again as he noticed his own unsteadiness. Taking a deep breath, he quickly read through all of the tests that Jemma had run, and a dim part of him was simultaneously unsurprised and impressed by her far-ranging thoroughness. “No,” he muttered at last, sliding the tablet onto the bed. “I don’t think so. But Jemma’s the biochemist, y’know, she knows things that I don’t –”

“Your read on those results is enough for me,” Skye said stubbornly, crossing her arms over her grey sweater. “You’re _not_ a monster –”

“How can you –” 

“And it’s all my fault.” Her face crumbled instantly into tears, one sleeve-covered hand covering her mouth.

Fitz just stood there helplessly as he watched her cry, and his hands lifted instinctively towards her but halted almost immediately as he remembered his illegally-lifted quarantine. “What –?” 

“If I hadn’t gone down there,” Skye gasped through her tears, “if I’d just _listened_ when Trip told me to leave Raina, to get out, none of this would have happened to you! You were only trying to help me, and I’m _so sorry_ Fitz!” She threw herself into his arms then, burying her face in his neck, and, after a moment of stunned silence, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, so _so_ sorry....” Her words devolved into real sobs then, and all Fitz could think to do was hold her tightly back, hoping that he wasn’t causing her harm just by breathing the same air.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, even though both of them knew that nothing was. “I don’t blame you –”

“You should –”

“But I don’t. And I wouldn’t, not ever.” He shifted her forward so he could meet her eyes, red-rimmed and unfocused though they were. “Okay?” Wiping at her cheeks with one of her long sleeves, she sniffled, inhaled, and gave him a small nod. She opened her mouth to say something, but just then Jemma came sprinting back into the hospital wing, one fist closed tight. 

“Oh good,” she said as she sped into Fitz’s room, “you opened the quarantine. It’s useless now, clearly this plague doesn’t work like I’d anticipated. You’re not contagious.” Not noticing Skye’s tears or the large damp spot on his shoulder, Jemma grabbed her tablet and inserted something miniature – probably a micro SD card – into a slot along the side. “Am I correct in thinking that the earthquakes since we’ve been back are you?”

Fitz nodded, but he realized that she wasn’t paying any attention to him, her eyes fixated on the tablet in front of her as she made a series of quick taps. “Um, yeah, I think so. Dunno how.”

“I would expect not,” she muttered, making a few more taps and looking up at last, a grim smile on her face. “There, your DNA is exactly the same as it’s always been – according to SHIELD.”

Skye’s mouth dropped open, tears abruptly forgotten. “Jemma, what’d you do?”

Avoiding Fitz’s gaze, Jemma carefully placed the tablet on the bed and folded her hands in front of her. “I’m not sure how much you know about SHIELD’s Index –”

“Their list of powered people,” Skye interjected, and Jemma nodded. 

“Yes, and one of the first things they do is ship them off to be tested, both mentally and physically.” Jemma turned to Fitz then, eyes hard and mouth set into a firm line. “And I’m not letting them take you away from m– here.”

“But if they’re SHIELD, maybe they can help –” Skye started, but Jemma interrupted her.

“Before Hydra, maybe, but we don’t know what the program is like now, who’s in charge. If they have any _real_ experience with this kind of power.” Skye still seemed uneasy, and when Jemma next spoke her words were much quieter. “Skye, what if there isn’t an extraction plan again?”

Fitz frowned, unsure of the relevance of that statement, but Skye nodded instantly, face settling into grim determination. “You’re right.” 

“Of course I am,” Jemma said, reaching over to tap something blinking on the tablet. “We’ll keep it just between us three, until I better understand what’s going on. Okay?” The last was directed at Fitz, and he flitted his gaze between the two of them. Keeping whatever the hell this was a secret seemed beyond risky, but he didn’t have any better ideas – and, frankly, he was itching to get out of quarantine.

After a few seconds, he gave her a brusque nod. “Yeah, just us.”

Jemma gave him a warm, slightly shaky smile. “Good.” Silence descended upon them again, and Fitz dropped his gaze from hers, although he could feel her eyes still on him. Suddenly, her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, his own moving haltingly to her back as he felt a telltale shake in her ribs that meant tears were soon to follow.

“It’s going to be okay, Fitz,” she said into his shoulder, her words muffled and unsteady. “I’m going to fix you, I promise.”

He went from being disconcerted but hopeful to furious in a matter of seconds, and he clumsily extracted himself from her embrace. “You can’t _fix_ me, Jemma,” he snapped, taking absolutely no satisfaction in the pained flinch that passed across her face at his words. His breathing had sped up, and he couldn’t bear to look straight at her anymore. At one time, he’d thought the two of them shared something unique – they’d been best friends for so many years that as long as nothing changed, they’d always accept each other for exactly who they were. Everything had changed, and he still couldn’t quite fathom that she’d never see him the same way again. “I’m just different now, can’t you see that? I’m not – I’m not something to _fix_.”

“Fitz,” she whispered, eyes shining wetly as one hand reached haltingly towards him, “that’s not what I meant. I just want you to be –”

“Someone that I’m not.” He snugged his arms closer around his chest, as if the tighter he squeezed the less her words would hurt. 

A hitched sob sounded from her throat. “Excuse me,” she choked out, “I’ve got some... some analyses to run.” From where Fitz continued to stare at the floor, he could see her boots hurrying back through the hospital wing and out into the hallway as quick as she could move.

“That wasn’t fair, Fitz,” Skye scolded quietly, studying him from under her messy bangs. “You know that’s not what she meant.” 

“It felt like it was,” he muttered, eyes flicking up again as May strode into the hospital wing and froze.

“What’s going on here?” Her voice was taut, and Fitz didn’t miss the way her eyes flitted up to the broken light.

“Simmons said Fitz is free to go,” Skye said with a tremulous smile, turning back to Fitz to hide the lie from her S.O.. “His results are clean.” When May tilted her head in the direction of the light, Skye rolled her eyes. “The klutzoid attacked.”

A moment of silence hovered between the three of them, and he tightened his grip on his chest. Then May nodded brusquely and gave Fitz a brief quirk of her lips. “Welcome back to active duty, Agent Fitz.”

“Th-thanks.” His eyes followed her as she continued through the hospital wing, and then he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Once she was gone, he watched Skye grab a box and start throwing his things inside. “I dunno if I can do this, Skye –” 

“You’ll be fine,” she reassured him, tossing his last, empty can of cactus cooler into the trash. “Between the three of us, we can do it.” He shook his head, and she paused her clean-up to squeeze his shoulder. “We’ll keep you safe, Fitz. I promise.” 

The buzzing inside his chest gave a small pulse and the floor shivered. Suppressing the sheer terror that threatened to leak out again, he pushed away from the bed and her hand. “Yeah. Okay,” he muttered, reaching out to add his National Geographic to the box and wondering if, some day, someone would study him like the journalist had studied those monkeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the beginning! My current plan is to post a chapter every week, although I might need to change that around the winter holidays to adjust for the end of the semester and my travel plans. But that's a ways off, yet. :-)


	2. Is your heart racing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, this is the shortest chapter currently written! Every other installment is longer.
> 
> This chapter's song is [Broken](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JeI4Ft8P7ks) by Seether & Amy Lee.  
>               _"I don't feel like I am strong enough"_

Although in theory everyone was busy, the garage was unnaturally quiet when Fitz returned to work. For the first time since Puerto Rico, however, he didn’t think that the quiet had to do with him. Mack had completed his work in near silence all day, and although he’d never been the most loquacious companion it had never felt this fraught. Mid-afternoon, Fitz glanced up at the sound of his friend tossing a tool impatiently to the side and then glaring at the lower-level SHIELD agents who skittered away at the noise. 

Pushing away from his own workstation, Fitz rolled his chair over, catching Mack’s attention as he grabbed onto a metal table to slow down. “How’s it going?” 

Mack shrugged, reaching for a polishing cloth. “Alright.” 

“I meant with your head, since –”

“I told you,” Mack snapped, keeping his eyes trained elsewhere. “It’s not gonna help to give you a play-by-play.”

Silence fell between them for a few moments as Fitz studied him, ignoring a junior scientist who passed by. “I’ve never known you to be afraid to talk about anything.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t feel it.” Mack’s voice was loud and sharp, unlike the normal, easy-going timbre Fitz was used to hearing around their workspace. “And I can’t describe it, so....” 

“Well,” Fitz said, crossing his arms and ignoring the slight tremble in his bad hand, “it’s not good to keep things to yourself, Mack. I know what you’re going through.” Perhaps now more than ever, he thought bitterly, although he kept that to himself.

“Really?” Mack leaned forward over the table in a sudden gesture unsettlingly familiar to his possessed behavior in Puerto Rico. Fitz didn’t flinch. “You know what it’s like to lose control? To be trapped inside your own body and not be able to tell it what to do? To watch yourself hurt the people that you care about?”

A thousand images flitted through Fitz’s head, from Jemma’s teary farewell before she left to visit her parents (or Hydra, in reality) to all the times he’d snapped at Skye and Trip when she was gone. But his mind settled on the day before, when a whole building had started to shake around him, and even though he knew, somehow, that this power was coming from within himself he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

He didn’t need to hesitate when he answered, however, sure as he was that Mack would think of his brain trauma – that had been how they’d first met, after all. “Yeah.”

The anger drained rapidly from Mack’s face and he dropped his gaze to the immaculate steel table. “I’m sorry, buddy –”

“It’s okay –”

“I’m a little on edge, like I said –” 

“I think we all are,” came Skye’s voice from the entrance to the garage. A purple sweater was wrapped around her shoulders, and as she stepped into the dim room the bag of white cheddar popcorn tucked under her arm made a loud crinkling noise. She gave them both a wan smile, clearly sensing that she might’ve interrupted something as she flicked her eyes between them. “It’s been a rough week.” 

Mack exhaled, lifting one large hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. Hey, how’s Trip doing?” His subject change was obvious, but she didn’t bat an eye.

“He’s good!” Her eyes brightened ever so slightly as she talked, leaning against a table kitty-corner from where Fitz continued to lean back in his chair. “He keeps trying to escape observation, but Jemma’s started threatening to embed a tracker in his neck.” Knowing that Jemma would stop at nothing to keep the much taller and stronger spec-ops agent from breaking her rules, Fitz couldn’t help the smile that ticked up the corner of his mouth. “I just stopped in to see if you wanted a break,” Skye added, sliding her eyes over to make meaningful contact with Fitz. “Y’know, it’s been kind of slow upstairs today, and I know your stomach monster can get pretty noisy if you don’t feed it.” She gave him a wide grin as she dangled the popcorn from one hand, but he could hear the implication beneath her words.

_Are you okay? Are you gonna freak out? Are you working so hard that you’ll destroy the entire base if you go off the deep end?_

Pursing his lips, Fitz shook his head. “Nah, I’m alright. Just been redesigning some old projects today, and I had a big lunch.” 

Not looking the least bit convinced, Skye raised an eyebrow, glancing over at where Mack had turned back to his own work. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Fitz said, giving her a solid nod. “I’m sure.” As much as he appreciated the gesture, he just wanted to be able to pretend that everything was normal; he didn’t want to be constantly reminded of the fact that everything about himself had changed for the second time in a year.

After another moment of hesitant scrutiny, Skye gave him a smile and a shrug. “Okay, guess these bad boys are all mine. Your loss, monkey!” He rolled his eyes at the nickname and scooted back to his workstation as she traipsed out of the garage. Fortunately, he wasn’t exaggerating when he told her he felt okay – working kept him calmer than he’d felt in days.

 

\------

 

As much as Fitz appreciated the intent behind it, Skye and Jemma were around him so often after his release from quarantine that he felt like he was being babysat. Sometimes (oftentimes) it was annoying, particularly when he was in the middle of parsing out a problem or design, but periodically it felt like old times on the Bus, especially with Skye. This morning, she’d insisted on celebrating the beginning of his second day free from captivity by bringing him a cupcake. Technically, she was doing work next to him on her laptop, but in reality she was mostly trying to talk her way out of watching the newest _Paranormal Activity_. 

“They’re barely scary –”

“That’s because you know how they do all the effects! Not all of us know that kind of crap instinctively –”

“It’s common sense!”

“You’d think you’d have had enough of ghosts, anyway,” she said, pushing his knee with the toe of her sneaker. “Since we had to fight an _actual_ one.”

Fitz wrinkled his nose, swinging the rolling chair back towards her. “No, we didn’t, he wasn’t an ‘actual’ –” 

“He disappeared in one place and reappeared in another one! That’s totally a ghost move –” 

“By that logic,” he argued, having given up all pretense of work, “then a – a, um, teleportation device would turn the user into a ghost.” 

“Ugh, you’re such a _nerd_.” She reached over to thwack his arm with a ruler, but he stopped her progress with a pencil, resulting in a brief but passionate office supply sword fight. 

Over their laughter, Fitz heard quick footsteps on the metal gangplank, and turned to find Jemma having frozen mid-approach. She was staring between the two of them with an inscrutable expression on her face, one steaming mug in each hand. The pencil Fitz’d been holding fumbled out of his hand at the sight of her, and he ducked quickly down to retrieve it, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. 

“Hey Jems,” Skye said cheerfully, twirling the ruler between her fingers as he straightened up again.

“Hi Skye,” Jemma answered with a tight smile, flitting her eyes over to Fitz as he dared a glance at her. “Fitz.” Just as he gave a quick nod, trying not to think about how he rather liked her with the short curls, the Bus shuddered around them. 

Fortunately, the garage was unoccupied other than the three of them, and Skye leaned worriedly over as he raised his eyes to see shelved objects shaking in their places. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” he gritted out, squeezing his eyes shut as if maybe he could force the rumbling inside his chest to cease.  
  
“Have you shaken at all today?” Two solid taps told him that Jemma had placed the mugs on a nearby table, and he could hear her footsteps get closer to him.

“No, this is the first time.” 

“Remember what I told you,” Skye said, her chair scraping over the floor’s metal grating. “Deep breaths, focus on your breathing. Just like May taught me.”

Holding his hands out to the side, Fitz clenched them into fists, trying to force some sense of control onto whatever it was that hovered inside him. After a few more seconds, the plane stilled, shelved supplies gradually growing quiet. The roiling within himself continued, but it was muted, as if he’d stuffed it into a soundproof room inside his chest.

When he opened his eyes again, Skye gave him a faint smile. “There you go, toldja you could do it.”

He glanced over at Jemma, who was unpacking the small examination bag she’d had slung over her shoulder. “Time to check on your vitals, I think,” she said, and he didn’t miss the uneven sound of her voice. It was laughably foolish, but all Fitz wanted in that moment was to impress Jemma, while simultaneously knowing that he couldn’t. That was what bothered him about the shaking – yes, he was terrified he would hurt someone, but he also wanted to show her that he could control himself, prove that he wasn’t just the clumsy boy she’d miraculously befriended all those years ago. And he hated himself for wanting this, for his instinctive naïveté around her, but he couldn’t stop the thoughts from circling his head every time he saw her.

Skye watched as Jemma did a variety of routine health checks on him. The computer was still analyzing his blood work, so in the meantime she was keeping a running tab of his vitals. Removing her hand from where she’d had two fingers pressed against his vein, Jemma exhaled, sweeping hair out of her face as she made her last note. “That heartbeat....”

“I’ll have that new monitor ready, um, soon,” he said, glancing over at where he was in the progress of making his own version of Skye’s heartbeat monitor. “The data in my head has, um, been jumbled today. I’m working on it.” Ideally, he’d imbue the new machine with the ability to track more than just his heart rate, but he’d hit a design wall earlier that he hadn’t yet managed to push past. It didn’t help that wearing the monitor band felt rather like he was being tracked like an animal, and as such he wasn’t exactly enthused about completing it. 

Jemma gave him an encouraging smile as she zipped up her kit, but Skye spoke before she had a chance. “I mean, maybe this is just growing pains or something. Like once your body’s used to the DNA it’ll even out and you’ll be able to use your powers.”

Fitz shrugged, flicking his eyes down to his now crossed arms. “Maybe.”

“If you can control them,” she continued, a familiar excited glint appearing behind her eyes. “You could have, like, Avengers-level powers! Like Cap or Thor.” 

Jemma sighed and gave her head a small shake. “I don’t know, Skye. It’s so unstable at this point that it seems to be far more like the Hulk, to me.”

“Well, the Hulk’s still a superhero,” he muttered, unable to completely erase the petulance from his voice, and her face softened.

“Of course –” 

Skye’s phone buzzed loudly on the steel table, and they all glanced down at it. She gave it a quick tap and stood up, snapping her laptop shut. “We’ve got a mission. Coulson wants us all back on the Bus and ready to go in ten.”

“All of us?” His brows furrowed, annoyance with Jemma temporarily forgotten. “Including me?” Skye nodded, and he glanced over at Jemma. “Isn’t that – I dunno, isn’t that a bad idea? Me up there in a flying tin box with you all?” 

“How are you feeling right now?” Jemma was studying him in a somewhat unsettling way, but he managed to distract himself by taking stock of his body.

“Alright.” 

“As long as you stay calm, then,” Jemma said, shrugging her kit’s strap over her shoulder, “I think it should be fine. You were able to exercise a minute amount of control just now –”

“Yeah, but....” He trailed off, frowning in confusion at her quick about-face. “You know better than anyone not to trust something alien in a plane thirty-five thousand feet in the air.”

His voice was quiet but she flinched at his statement, taking a moment to think before she responded. “You’re not ‘something alien,’ Fitz,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes. “You’re more like....”

“Human-plus,” Skye piped up, and Jemma gave her a grateful smile.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Besides,” Skye added, “how’re you planning on telling Coulson that you can’t go? He knows you’re not sick, and we don’t really get sick days here anyway.”

“Another good point, Skye, thank you.” Jemma turned to Fitz with one of those know-it-all expressions that he used to find adorable and currently found infuriating. “Do you really want to draw more attention to your current health more than you have to?” 

The two of them stared at him with disconcertingly similar expectant expressions, waiting for his agreement, and he exhaled. It’d been hard enough to disagree with Jemma alone, and with Skye backing her up there really was no hope for him. At last, he gave them a brusque nod. “Alright. Let’s just hope you’re right.” Tapping his fingers on his arm, he gave his head one, small shake. Maybe he should start practicing with the parachute before they took off, or even wear it under his clothes. 

Before he could push away from the table Jemma reached over and squeezed his shoulder, her thumb rubbing briefly against his shirt. Fitz froze, watching as she drew away again and made her way down the gangplank, the pressure of her touch staying with him even once she was out of sight. Something tingled in his chest, but at least this time nothing shook.

The movement of Skye traipsing after her caught his attention and he shot into motion, doing a quick clean up of his station before following, although he couldn’t force himself to stop thinking about Jemma. One second, she was acting like a stranger to him, as if he was a sample in one of her petri dishes, and then the next she was providing the kind of comfort and encouragement that she had since they were sixteen. Flicking a switch that sent the garage into darkness, he exhaled harshly, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Sometimes, he wished it were easier to be angry with Jemma than it was to love her, but unfortunately that had never been the case.

 

\------

 

Much to Fitz’s surprise, the mission went extremely well, aside from the worrisome evidence that there were many more obelisks on the loose than just the one that he’d destroyed down in the temple. Other than an uncomfortable moment where Jemma mentioned wanting to strengthen the concentration of the ICERs’ dendrotoxin dose, the two of them worked well together, almost reminiscent of how they used to “before.” She smiled at him twice; genuine smiles, ones at which he couldn’t help but smile back, rather than the stilted, fragile smiles she’d given him when she’d first returned after being at Hydra. A familiar sliver of frustration with himself wormed its way into his chest at that observation, but he was able to push past it and return to work without letting himself get off-track. 

Back at the base, everyone had split off into their respective duties, and he and Jemma were yet again working together, this time to examine the case that had supposedly once held more obelisks. As he strode past the base’s common area to fetch something from the garage, he wondered, too, if the sunlight hadn’t helped to encourage his good mood. It had been a very long time – to the extent that he couldn’t remember when – since he had last spent a significant span of time outdoors. Perhaps he’d ask Coulson for permission to spend some regular amount of time off the base; maybe he could even wrangle once a week, if he babbled about vitamin deficiency and his brain injury in terms that the Director would only vaguely understand. Being out of the confinements of the Playground on a regular basis would also probably have a positive effect on figuring out whatever the hell the obelisk had put into him.

“...they are abominations.” 

Fitz tripped at the word, breath rushing out of his lungs as he righted himself and took a few more steps so that he had a good view of who was talking. The voice was deep, and clearly belonged to the disguised Kree with whom they now seemed to be cooperating. He had been speaking to Lady Sif, Skye, Coulson, and May, all of whom looked discomfited by the discussion – but no one more than Skye. Not noticing his presence, they continued talking, about how the creatures created by the obelisks were built to be weapons, meant only to destroy, that a changed person might not even notice that something was different, and Fitz felt that buzzing within himself get stronger. It had been dormant for hours, only surfacing briefly when Jemma had checked his vitals once he’d returned to the base. All of a sudden it was rolling out from his chest in waves so strong that he had no hope of controlling it, and the floor began to shake.

The others stumbled on their feet, perplexed by the ground’s sudden movement, and Coulson noticed Fitz’s presence. “Agent Fitz,” he said, steadying himself on a nearby chair. “Was there something you wanted to say?”

“You!” Sif took a few quick steps towards him and he stumbled back, leaning against the doorway. “Skye mentioned that you were in the temple with her. I was just on my way to speak to you.”

“W-why? I didn’t, um, don’t know anything,” he stuttered, flashing a panicked glance at Skye.

“I told you –” She started to speak, stepping forward with one hand held tensely near her holstered ICER, but Sif waved her off.

“Anything at all? Even something small might be very useful.” The Asgardian’s gaze was clear and piercing, and the ground gave a sharp lurch.

Rapid footsteps could be heard in the hallway, getting louder until Jemma burst in through a side door, drawing everyone’s attention. Her eyes darted between them and Fitz, who gave her a desperate look. “I – I felt the shaking,” she offered as explanation to the others. “What’s going on?”

“How close were you to the obelisk?” The Kree’s stare was even more unnerving than Sif’s, and when his eyes met Fitz’s the whole base seemed to shift sideways.

“I – I –” Fitz could feel an odd sort of pressure building inside his head, similar to when he’d dived too quickly to the bottom of the swimming pool and nearly burst an eardrum. 

“Fitz,” Coulson said, eyes wide as he studied his stance. “What’s going on? Do you know what’s doing this?”

A gasp escaped Fitz’s throat as the pressure reached such a height that his vision blurred out. “It’s me.” 

At his words, something sharp, cold, and invisible burst out from him in all directions, shattering every pane of glass in the room, an explosion of shards causing everyone to duck. When he caught his breath, feeling as if he’d just run a marathon, the pressure in his head was gone but that familiar rumbling in his chest continued to flow through him into the floor no matter how hard he tried to reign it in. Everyone flinched from the glass, but within seconds May strode to his left side, and at the other agent’s nod Skye took her place along his right. 

“Give him to me, Son of Coul,” Sif said, one hand held placatingly outward as her other reached for the hilt of her sword. “I will take him to Asgard – it will be safer for all of you –”

“You will do no such thing!" 

Fitz had almost forgotten that Jemma was in the room until she spoke, stepping forward next to Coulson. Her hands were clenched at her side, and Fitz had the bizarre impression of her getting ready to take on the Asgardian with her bare hands. 

“The weapon has been activated,” said the Kree, stepping alongside Sif. “It needs to be eliminated before it hurts someone.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Fitz said, but his voice wavered and May spoke over him, so he didn’t think anyone else heard him. Except, perhaps, for Jemma, who turned her head just before the older agent began talking. It’s possible that he imagined it, but something hardened behind her eyes before she looked back at their adversaries. 

“Fitz is not a weapon!” Jemma’s voice was sharp and interrupted May’s calm, reasoned argument, but everyone’s attention continued to focus on Fitz. 

Sliding her sword slowly out, Sif continued to press subtly forward. “No one is saying that Agent Fitz chose this – but he is dangerous now.” 

Fitz saw both May and Skye reach for their weapons, and, voice just shy of panic, he tried to make himself heard this time. “I don’t want to be like this!” His hands stretched pleadingly forward, palms out, instinctively trying to show that he had no control over what was happening.

“Imagine what will happen if your powers grow,” Sif said, speaking directly to him now. “It may not stop at breaking glass. You could bring down buildings, tear continents apart.” The room gave a particularly strong shiver, dust sifting out from between the bricks, and he knew that she was telling the truth. His very presence at the Playground put the thousands of present agents at risk, and even perhaps the entire city beyond them.

“You were designed to destroy,” the Kree weighed in, fingers curling into fists at his side, “which is why you must be put down.”

“That sounds an awful lot like _killing_ –” Jemma shot back, at the same time that Skye spoke, drawing her ICER.

“You’re not getting anywhere _near_ him!” 

What happened next moved almost too fast for Fitz to process it. One second, he was watching the slow but sure advance of the Asgardian and the Kree, and the next May had one hand wrapped around his arm and was dragging him backwards out of the room.

“Simmons, we need Bambino!” Coulson yelled this as he drew his own gun, and Fitz caught a glimpse of Jemma sprinting out of the room. The last thing he saw before May pulled him into the corridor was Skye cocking her ICER and crouching into a defensive stance.

“You want him, you go through me,” she ground out, voice hard in a way he’d never heard before. The concrete beneath him gave a particularly violent shake as he stumbled into the hallway after May, and he forced himself to stop thinking about what had just happened and focus on reigning in the horrific waves of destruction rolling out from his chest. 

In a matter of seconds, May pushed him ahead of her into the vacant Vault D, and he fell onto the bed, curling instinctively into a defensive position against the wall. The force field zipped into existence at a few taps of her fingers, and then she tossed the control tablet onto the bed and climbed over the mattress so that she was next to him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his knee. At any other time, Fitz would’ve been deeply disconcerted by the normally-mute and infinitely intimidating agent’s physical proximity, but he was too busy pulling ineffectively in on the foreign waves of power pulsing out from inside himself. He could hear the whole building shifting now, concrete and Robar groaning under the force of his abilities.

“Hey,” she said, trying to make eye contact as he squeezed his hands into fists at his side. “Listen to me, just me. We can do this. _You_ can do this.” 

Fitz shook his head, tears forming at the corner of his eyes as the buzzing in his chest grew to a deafening level. “I can’t – I can’t make it stop –”

When he wouldn’t meet her gaze, May switched tactics, standing in front of him and backing away, motioning her hands down as if she could hold the base together herself. “You just need to control your emotions –”

“I can’t make it stop!” His voice broke on a breathless sob, and he stared down at his palms, the hands that he’d relied on his whole life now effectively useless under the forces that rolled through his body and into the building around them. “Everyone’s in danger because of me!”

“Just focus. Look at me, Fitz,” she said sharply, finally getting him to meet her eyes. “Focus, it’ll stop –” 

The orange crisscrosses of the force field gave a loud, electric pulse as Lady Sif sliced her sword partway through the barrier, and Fitz let out a strangled gasp. Her black hair whipping around as she turned, May didn’t even back away from the point of the sword.

“Agent May, release the boy!” 

Backing towards the bed, she raised her hands steadily in front of herself in a fighting stance as the Asgardian continued to try to force the sword into the cell. “Ignore it,” May called behind her to Fitz. “Focus!”

“I can’t –” He whispered, letting out a wordless cry as the orange force field disappeared entirely, and Lady Sif took a step towards May, sword raised high. An image of the blade slicing through May’s ribs flashed into his head, and the building gave another sharp lurch. Desperate to avoid seeing that in reality, Fitz reached forward and yanked May’s ICER out of her holster, pressed the muzzle awkwardly against his own chest, and fired.

 

\------

 

Packing up his Playground bunk didn’t take as much time as Fitz had thought it would. The things he didn’t use on an every day basis were still stored in boxes from when Jemma had moved him into the base during his recovery, and he’d never completely unpacked afterwards. She’d been with him when Coulson told him – in kind but no uncertain terms – that he was going to be staying in the Bus’ cell until they figured out how to help him control the quaking. When Fitz had strode to the door, she’d hesitantly offered to help him collect his things. As he lifted his black duffle onto his shoulder now, he still wasn’t sure whether or not he regretting rebuffing her offer, and he couldn’t quite shake the memory of the way her smile had faltered for just a second as she’d turned away to finish recording his vitals.

After waking up, the buzzing inside himself had dropped to a low level, constantly present but no longer overwhelming. He tried to parse out why being unconscious may have helped that even out, but he also wasn’t sure how long it would last. For the moment, all he felt was a dull numbness, as if his own exhaustion was dimming his powers. Perhaps he should just constantly tire himself out by running on a treadmill, he thought bitterly. 

The base was quiet, most agents having retired for the evening, but he could hear voices coming from the common area whose glass he’d destroyed as he headed towards the Bus. Fitz took a moment to inhale before he continued; if there had been any other path to his new prison, he would have taken it. The idea of seeing any of his co-workers right now made him feel vaguely nauseous. Since he didn’t have any other options, however, he took a deep breath and kept going, trying not to listen to the conversation taking place in front of him – although that was almost impossible to do. Their voices were loud, and he could tell without seeing who was involved that they were fighting.

Skye’s voice carried the furthest, and he could see her arm waving out into the hallway in frustration, dustpan in hand. “You would’ve done to him _exactly_ what they wanted to –” 

“You don’t know that –” Bobbi’s voice was even and weary, but she was immediately interrupted by Jemma, much to Fitz’s surprise. His best friend had always bickered with him, but she didn’t usually yell like this at other people. 

“But we do know that! Mack just said it, like Fitz is something to be locked away in a cage somewhere!” 

“We should be protecting him,” Skye jumped in, and just as Fitz drew even with the open doorway Mack slammed his hand on the back of a nearby table. 

“No, Skye! We’re the ones that need protection from him!”

The words of his newer friend struck Fitz in the gut, and he froze in place, remembering acutely what it had been like when he’d first returned to work after his brain injury. He’d been angry all the time – just as frustrated with his own anger as he was at the injury itself – and he’d known that he was chasing people away but had been unable to keep himself from doing so. Yet again people were shrinking from him, the injured engineer, the pariah, the awkward little boy who didn’t know how to talk to people below a certain IQ level.

Every set of eyes in the room was fixed on him, and he couldn’t help the way his own drifted over to Jemma, the wetness of her gaze and pink-cheeked frustration feeling like the final straw. Choosing not to say anything, he hiked his bag higher up on his shoulder and strode forward through the hall, needing to be alone before he broke down – again.

“Fitz!” He wasn’t surprised when he heard Skye follow him partway down the hall, but he had no intention of turning around. His resolve was tested, however, at the sound of Jemma’s voice, and she kept going farther than Skye had.

“Fitz! Fitz, wait, they’re just –”

“Hey, hang on – let him go.”

Jemma’s footsteps stopped as Skye took a few more, and Fitz ducked his head down to keep himself from being tempted to turn around. “But I just....” 

“I know.” 

A familiar ache in the center of his chest made itself known – and this one he knew had nothing to do with his foreign DNA or new designation as SHIELD’s monster of the week. This one had first appeared after he’d watched Jemma jump out of a plane to save all their lives, and it hadn’t really gone away since. Ignoring his own sentimentality and feeling a new wash of frustration, Fitz yanked open the heavy metal door at the end of the brick-lined hallway and kept going, letting the clang of the latch serve as his goodbye to what his life used to be. 

He was different now; they all had to get used to that.


	3. Is there fire in your veins?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter **trigger warning** : Brief discussion of suicide, as mentioned by canon in 2x13.
> 
> This chapter's song is [Wrecking Ball](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Dtre2Yiw78) by Miley Cyrus. :-)

His first night in the Bus’ cell, Fitz dreamed about being at the bottom of the ocean again, but this time the metal flooring shook underneath his feet. Somehow he knew that the sand was shifting beneath them, seaweed growing through the cracks in the grating, and he reached out to grab for Jemma’s hand but she was nowhere to be found. He turned around and around, screaming her name, and the walls began to shake around him. The pressure-resistant glass window shattered and water poured in, but he had no one beside him when he was thrown back against the pod’s metal wall and then consumed by the ocean. 

“Fitz! Fitz, wake up – you’re quaking the Bus!”

Someone gave his shoulder a sharp shake, and his eyes snapped open on a strangled gasp, his pulse racing and cold sweat beading on his skin. Jemma’s fingers were curled tightly around his shoulder, and Skye and May stood just behind her, fear and worry etched onto both of their faces. He realized that the floor and walls were moving around them, the noise of creaking metal joints echoing in his ears. Taking a deep breath, he leaned up on his right elbow, clenching his hands into fists and trying to channel the waves of other into a feeling of calm that wouldn’t come.

“Fitz –” started May, but Skye waved a hand back at her. 

“Hold on, he’s got it.”

Desperate to prove her right, Fitz concentrated as hard as on suppressing the destructive force within him, until, at last, the Bus gave one last shudder and was still. A sharp ache spread through his hands and up into his arms, but he didn’t give it much thought, assuming that this was just another one of the side-effects of his condition. The three women glanced around them, as if to make sure that the inanimate objects were at peace, and Skye let out a loud sigh. 

“See, I told you he could learn to control it.” 

Straightening up beside Skye, who had the distinct impression of having rewarded a well-trained dog, Jemma gave him a tremulous smile. May studied him where he struggled to sit up on the bed, pursing her lips as she glanced at the other two. 

“We’re going to get you help.” But she didn’t elaborate, striding quickly to the cell door and disappearing around the corner. 

Skye blew her overlong bangs out of her face. “Okay, if everything’s good here, I’m gonna go – I sorta left my top secret laptop open, so I should get back to that.” Nudging his foot with hers, she smiled. “I’ll be back later with snacks.”

He didn’t have the energy to be enthused about her promise of a visit, so he just nodded in response, staring down at his feet pressed flat against the floor. The adrenaline from being frightened awake was still coursing through his system, everything in the room seeming sharp and bright. A quiet cough caught his attention from near the head of the bed, but he didn’t look up.

“Shall I go get my kit to do your tests now, or...?”

“Now’s fine,” he said gruffly, briefly flicking his eyes up at Jemma and then back down. It was long enough for him to see how stiffly she was standing, as if she didn’t want to be alone with him now, and a dull wash of pain spread through him. Clearly nothing would ever be the same with them again, and he might as well rip the Band-Aid off sooner rather than later. In a way, it would be easier to push her away now that he was this creature, an unknown quantity. Maybe she’d finally stop trying so hard to pretend that his feelings for her didn’t make her uncomfortable. 

Her boots stepped over to the door, hesitated, and then turned partway around again. “Fitz... do you mind if I... I was, um –”

“What?” His tone was harsher than he’d really intended, but he took grim satisfaction in the way her hand flinched.

“What were you dreaming about?”

The image of water pouring into the broken pod flashed into Fitz’s head, and he finally met her eyes. “Nightmare. Why?”

Sucking in a breath, she shifted her gaze to the hallway. “I thought... it sounded like you were calling for me. My name.”

“Oh.” He swallowed, cursing the genes that caused his ears to flush when he was embarrassed. “I don’t remember what it was, honestly.”

“Right,” she said quickly, still not meeting his eyes. “Yes, of – of course. I’ll just, um. I’ll be right back.”

Fitz didn’t move from his bed until he’d heard her steps disappear down the metal stairs to the loading bay. Forcing himself to separate from Jemma was going to hurt, but maybe it would be better for both of them in the long run.

 

\------

 

Although being in the cell was better than being in quarantine, it wasn’t by much. At least here Fitz didn’t feel like he was in a fishbowl; in fact, the Bus was preternaturally quiet, partially because the garage had been emptied due to his presence. Mack and the others had temporarily relocated to a corner of the hangar, and although Coulson had tried to tell Fitz that it wasn’t a big deal, he could tell that the Director was wary of him. Kindly so, but wary nonetheless. Before leaving, Mack had brought up a few more portable things on which Fitz could work, including his field tool kit, design sketchbook, and a couple of smaller projects. He spent the day fixing a few designs and finishing up his vitals monitor; with a little more testing, it would be ready for him to use, and that would mean that Jemma wouldn’t have to come in three times a day to test him.

Skye returned to the cell to keep him company in the late afternoon, laptop in tow so she could finish some file organization upkeep – and so she didn’t have to actually watch the newest _Paranormal Activity_ straight on. 

“C’mon, Skye,” he whined, nudging her thigh with his sneakered foot. His own laptop was propped up on a chair, the movie paused, a few feet in front of where she leaned against his bed. He’d been slouching back against the wall until he’d realized what she was doing. “It’s no fun if you’re not paying attention.” 

“Oh, fine.” With a final few taps on the keyboard, she slapped her laptop shut and reached over for a handful of popcorn. “You’re just mean and like scaring the shit out of me.”

“One of these days, I’ll remember to bring a decibel reader,” he deadpanned, snatching the bowl out of her reach and stuffing a large handful of popcorn into his own mouth. “Too bad Trip’s still on lockdown or I’d have him bring me one.”

Skye groaned, slapping his knee and grabbing some of the snack anyway. “Believe me, he’d do it in a heartbeat if they didn’t have someone watching his room.”

“I think the second film was the best –”

“Oh, shut _up_ –”

“When you pissed yourself –”

“I DID NOT! I just spilled some soda, that’s all!”

“And then you didn’t sleep for two days –”

“Yeah, that was _hilarious_ –” 

“And I thought Coulson was _this_ close to sending you to a doctor....” They both devolved into giggles at that point, with Skye grabbing his pillow and whacking him half-heartedly anywhere she could reach. As he gasped for breath, still trying to dodge his friend’s terrible aim, he glanced up to see Jemma standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Jemma!” The sight of her distracted him long enough that Skye got in a solid thwack, and he almost fell off the bed. 

The expression as she’d watched them laugh had been odd, but by the time he righted himself she’d fixed it into that stiff smile with which he’d become so familiar over these past few months. It shifted again, though, as the plane began to shiver ever so slightly, and both women turned to him with wide eyes. 

“Fitz, is that....” Skye started, shifting around so that she was on her knees on the ground.

“Yeah,” he breathed, glancing down at his impotent hands and feeling that now-familiar otherness shivering from himself and out into the plane surrounding them. “I don’t – I – I wasn’t....”

A small gasp sounded from the doorway, where Jemma was staring at him with unmistakable horror. “You were fine until you saw me.”

He frowned, his attention divided between trying to suppress the quaking and not understanding what she’d just said. “What?”

“Oh God,” she whispered, one hand reaching out to grab the doorframe and the other dropping her small medical bag. “It’s me again. It’s me, I’m making you worse –” Fitz looked up from where he’d been staring at his feet and willing the shaking to stop to frown at Jemma. Her eyes were glassy as she stumbled back, trying hard to keep her balance as the plane shifted uneasily. “I’m so sorry, Fitz, I’m sorry,” she barely managed to get out before disappearing down the hallway, running rapidly through the plane.

Her reaction was so strange that it took him a good ten seconds of staring after her to realize that the shaking had already stopped.

“Hey,” Skye said, resting a hand on his shoulder and then flinching when he jumped at her touch. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I – what was she on about?” He scrambled up to pace the room, twisting his right thumb into the palm of his left.

“Only one way to know.” Skye nodded towards the door.

His thumbnail dug into his skin, muscles and tendons shifting away from the pressure, as he stared out into the hallway. The blurry memory of when he’d kneeled outside those walls, trying to trap an Asgardian warrior, popped into his head. Everything from that day was sort of vague, but he remembered being confused when Jemma had appeared around that corner, unsure of how she could be in two places at once but knowing that if he did as Lorelai bid then maybe she would love him.

“I’m not supposed to go out there,” he muttered, trying to decide how much he cared about Coulson’s newest bloody rules right now.

“Oh, fuck it, Fitz,” Skye groaned, grabbing her tablet from her bag and turning it around. “You’ve got your lanyard – I’ve got Koenig’s software on here, I’ll know where you go.” A few taps later and she exhaled, a sad smile briefly gracing her features. “‘Sides, you’re not gonna have to go far to find her.” She flipped her tablet around for him to see, and something warm and hard settled beneath his ribcage: Jemma’s little red dot was just beneath them, in their old lab. Of course she would take comfort in the same place he had.

 _The garage_ , Fitz reminded himself as he shot out the cell door. _It’s the garage, and it’s where I’d be working right now if I weren’t a walking disaster_. 

The silence of the Bus meant that he could hear Jemma’s sniffles as soon as he stepped off the spiral, metal staircase. As he shuffled gingerly past the entrance of the lab, he tried to remember how he used to comfort her. It used to come so easily to him, like breathing or working with machines, but everything was a little harder now and he didn’t know what to say. He still didn't know what she’d meant by “ _it’s me again_ ,” although he was desperately curious to find out. A taunting voice at the back of his head reminded him of his resolution of less than twelve hours prior to separate from Jemma entirely, and then chose to ignore it. She was upset, and he had to know why. 

Once he spotted the tips of her boots peeking out from under her old workstation, Fitz felt like he should have known that he’d find her there. Crouching down in front of the desk, he paused, watching the way she’d curled over her knees, hugging them to herself and hiding her face. A part of him wanted to behave differently – he _was_ different now, in so many ways, and he couldn’t be the same man who’d comforted her about anything and everything since they were sixteen. But her shoulders were shaking, wracked with each sob, and he instinctively reached out for her in the same way he always had.

“Jemma?” His voice was tentative as he laid one hand on her knee, half expecting her to crawl over to him like she once would have.

Instead, she gasped, red-rimmed eyes flying up to meet his as she pressed her body back against the desk, as if she was trying to get away from him. “No, Fitz, I’ll only make you upset again, please –”

Trying to tamp down the bile that rose in his throat at the image of her flinching from him (the word _monster_ echoed in his head), he refused to leave this time, settling himself against the outside of the desk instead and keeping his gaze trained on hers. “Look, I’m not shaking now –” 

“I’m bad for you, Fitz,” she spoke over him, tears spilling over on her cheeks. “I’m making you worse again –” 

“– Again?”

“– and I don’t want to hurt you!” Her eyes met his and he was shocked to see the desperation there, the terror that she could somehow hurt him, even though _he_ was the one with the monstrous DNA and uncontrollable powers. “Please, Fitz, please go. I need to accept that you’re better off without me –” 

“No,” he answered automatically, and she cringed at the same time that he did a mental double take. He’d been so furious at her for weeks that, frankly, he _shouldn’t_ want to be around her – but he’d known instinctively that it wasn’t an option. No matter what happened he’d never been better without Jemma by his side.

“Fitz –”

“When you said ‘again,’” he interrupted, trying to parse through her sobbed rambling, “did you mean....” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely to his head. “Before you left?”

Jemma inhaled sharply and dropped her gaze. “Yes,” she whispered, fingers tightening around her legs. “I didn’t – you were trying so hard to be the same around me. I didn’t even notice until Skye mentioned it, and when I looked over the lab’s camera footage... I knew you’d be better off without me for the rest of your recovery.”

“And that – that’s why you left? To go undercover?” He couldn’t help the way his voice raised in incredulity, anger bubbling to the surface again. “Why couldn’t you have j-just bloody told me?”

The bitter half-smile she gave him then made his own chest constrict, and she swiped a few tears off her face before continuing. “You only would have argued with me. Just like this.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, flicking angrily at the table against which he leaned. “You should have told me –”

“I made the right decision as your doctor, Fitz, and I –” 

“But what about the right decision as my friend?!” The Bus made a small shiver, but Jemma didn’t break eye contact, only frowning slightly back at him.

“As your friend, I’d do anything to help you get better. And if that meant taking myself out of the equation, then so be it.” Her face crumpled a little, a new rivulet crawling down her flushed cheek. “And it’s happening again –”

“It’s not you, Jemma,” he said with a tinge of exasperation. “I mean, about before, I – I dunno, I didn’t... I never thought about it that way. But now, it’s the exams. You come in to check on me and it’s like – what’s going to be wrong with me today? What else won’t I be able to control?” Fitz held out his arms in front of himself, staring bitterly down at the hands he used to rely on for everything and now couldn’t trust at all. “And that’s the only time I see you, y’know. You don’t... I – I mean, I guess there’s no reason for you to, but – you’ve never just visited. On your own.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to,” she whispered, studying him intently. 

He dropped his gaze and shrugged. “Didn’t know either, to be honest.” 

“Shall I... visit you, then?” Her voice, despite its timidity, held a distinct note of hope.

“Yeah, if – if you want to.” He gave another small shrug, but she smiled almost immediately at him, scrubbing her cheeks with her sleeves.

Fitz realized, then, that he was absolutely, one hundred percent not over his feelings for her, that he probably never could be. Even if her leaving hadn’t entirely been about his confession – well, she clearly still didn’t feel the same way, or she would’ve said something ages ago. And being reminded of both those things at once felt remarkably like being punched in the chest. The room began to shake around them, and he swore under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers and praying desperately for the panic to stop.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No,” he gritted out, pressing his palms against his eyes. “I just need a minute....”

Underneath the plane’s rattling, he heard Jemma shift in front of him, until the warmth of her side was pressed against his and one arm wrapped around his shoulders. “It’s going to be okay,” she murmured, curling her fingers around the arm nearest to her. “You can do it.”

God, he’d almost forgotten how much he loved her, and it all came swooping back on top of the terror about his powers. The only thing he wanted to do right then was kiss her, angle her lips open and taste her for the first time, but she didn’t _want_ him that way – would never want him that way. So he ignored the flare of pain in his chest as he pulled clumsily in on his powers, folding in on his inner self over and over again until the plane gave one last shudder and stilled.

“There,” Jemma said, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze as he dropped his hands and turned to look at her. “I knew you could do it.”

Fitz gave her a brief quirk of his lips and exhaled, breathing into the knowledge that she’d never love him back but that he’d always feel this way about her, and that he truly couldn’t imagine his life without her. Trying to distance himself from her completely had been stupid, he realized with a dim sort of clarity; no matter what he tried, he’d always circle back into her orbit. At one time, he’d been terrified of wanting anything more than friendship, and now he’d have to live with just that. If he could learn to move past the resentment about her abandonment that he’d been harboring for the past few months – and he could already feel it starting to crack – then maybe loving her would dull into something familiar but not all-consuming. Maybe he could let go of what he would never have, and return to cherishing the most important friendship of his life.

 

\------

 

The next morning, May knocked on the cell door just as Fitz was swinging his legs over the side of the cot. To his surprise, she had someone with her whom he had never met.

“This is Andrew Garner,” she said, watching impassively as Fitz scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes and reached forward to shake the taller man’s hand. “He’s one of the country’s best psychologists, and –” 

“Melinda,” the other man interrupted, deep voice rumbling in modest exasperation as he released Fitz’s hand. “You don’t –”

“And he’s worked with people on SHIELD’s Index for years,” May continued, speaking calmly over his objection. 

“So I’m on that now,” Fitz muttered, shifting his gaze over from studying the psychologist. “The Index.”

If he wasn’t mistaken there was a flash of pity in her eyes before she gave him a brief nod. “He’s going to spend a few hours with you today –”

“You really think I need that?” Fitz glanced over at the other man with a slight cringe. “I mean, sorry, but – a psychologist? I’m not crazy –”

“It’s standard procedure,” Andrew answered smoothly, earning him a quick, approving look from May. “Something like this can really throw a person for a loop. I’m just here to help you through it.”

“And make sure it’s not _making_ me crazy,” he added drily, not missing the way May’s lips pursed in response. “Don’t have a choice, do I?”

May sighed, her normally impassive expression softening briefly. “No.”

“But if it helps,” Andrew said, looking at his watch, “we’re not gonna start just yet. The Director’s expecting me, and I’d guess you’d probably like something to eat first. Melinda just wanted to introduce me – I’ll be back in about an hour.” 

Fitz nodded, clenching his jaw and watching as they strode towards the spiral staircase. Before they got to the landing, Jemma appeared at the top of the stairs, scooting out of their way with a greeting and a smile. He would’ve been more concerned by the flush that worked into his ears if he hadn’t spotted Andrew rest his hand briefly on May’s lower back to pseudo-guide her through the doorway. The touch was so oddly intimate for two coworkers that his mouth dropped open, and he only barely managed to force himself back into focus to make room for Jemma to enter the cell. 

As she passed him, Fitz realized with a start that she’d brought him breakfast, even though someone from maintenance had been assigned that job. She had two travel mugs tucked under one arm, a strawberry Danish in a small paper bag for him, and her own cup of low-fat yoghurt and granola. The pastry wasn’t the kind of thing that was typically served in the Playground’s mess hall; it was clear that she’d made an effort to go find him something he liked. A surge of affection washed through him, but he halted that train of thought as soon as he had it. That secondary reaction caused the plane to shiver around him, and she glanced up from where she’d been setting down their food, eyes wide in worry. He held up a hand to quiet her, working hard to funnel his nerves into suppressing his new powers. After only a few seconds this time, he managed to succeed, and the way she smiled at him then made his stomach flip over. The Bus gave one last shiver as he pushed the thought aside.

“Well done, Fitz,” she said warmly, handing him the pastry bag and putting down her medical kit, and a strange, conflicting sort-of warmth settled in his chest.

Even if he knew that – to some degree – she was just being nice, her praise still gave him a small boost of confidence. That happiness was dulled just as quickly, however, by his simultaneous awareness that he shouldn’t be trying so hard to impress her; he’d been doing that their entire friendship, and all it had earned him was a broken heart. His own self-awareness made the whole encounter acutely bittersweet, despite his attempt to just be glad that they were working together to mend their relationship in the aftermath of his unrequited (and unsolicited) confession at the bottom of the ocean.  

“So I see you’ve met Agent May’s ex-husband,” she said, settling into the aluminum chair as he sat cross-legged on his bed.

“ _What_?” 

She laughed at the gob-smacked expression on his face. “I met him a few minutes ago – and Skye told me.” 

“I didn’t know she was married!” He paused, taking a large bite of his Danish and chewing thoughtfully. “Y’know, actually, that makes more sense. He called her _Melinda_ –”

“And did you see the way he guided her through the door just now?” Fitz nodded, mouth too full to do much else as she made a thoughtful hum. “He clearly still has feelings for her.”

“I wonder why they broke up,” he mumbled around the pastry in his mouth.

“I suppose that would be inappropriate for you to ask during your session,” she teased, taking a long sip of her tea and sighing in contentment.

Fitz swallowed and reached out for his own mug, watching the careful way she flipped the top of her mug closed before grabbing her yoghurt. “Um, thanks, by the way. For this.” He lifted up the tea in a half-toast and she gave him a warm smile.

“You’re quite welcome.”

Once she’d finished eating, she went quickly through his routine checks, avidly listening to his description of the monitor’s progress and making a few suggestions for him to incorporate. Their back-and-forth felt so comfortable that when it was time for her to leave, Fitz actually wished she could’ve stayed longer. But Andrew would be back soon, she had work to which she must return, and, frankly, Fitz wanted to take a shower. After tossing and turning all night again, he probably looked like a complete mess.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jemma reassured him as she stepped through the cell door. “If May trusts Dr. Garner, shouldn’t we?”

Instead of saying goodbye, he just nodded his acquiescence and exhaled. He tried not to focus on the fact that no matter how good Andrew was at his job, talking to a psychologist was bound to be painful. Fitz just hoped the pain was only figurative.

 

\------

 

Gnawing at the corner of one thumbnail with his teeth, Fitz studied Andrew’s relaxed posture and wondered again how he and May had ever been married. His dark skin shone ever-so-slightly in the cell’s dim lighting, and the way his fingers were entwined where he leaned forward over his knees made it feel deceptively like they were just two friends of a mutual acquaintance who were getting to know each other. Although that impression was technically accurate, of course it wasn’t that simple, and Fitz settled for staring at the psychologist rather than making any overtures. The only things he could think to say were questions about his and May’s relationship anyway, so he just continued to lean against the cell wall, legs stretched over the bed and arms crossed.

“So,” Andrew started, breaking the silence, “Melinda tells me that you did a lot of work on this plane.”

Eyebrows raising briefly, Fitz shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, we used to live on it, so. Lots of time to make adjustments.”

“It’s impressive.”

“Spent a lot of time reinforcing this,” he added, banging twice on the wall behind him. “S’why we thought it’d be safer to have me in here. I know what it can withstand.”

Andrew nodded, leaning back to look around the room. “That makes sense.” When he met Fitz’s gaze again, his eyes held a subtly piercing look that felt oddly like the man could see right through him to the metal behind. “Why’d you shoot yourself?”

Doing a double take at the bluntness of the question, Fitz’s mouth worked silently for a second. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, frowning. “I mean, it was an ICER. I’m not suicidal.” 

“I didn’t say that you were. Have you ever? Been suicidal, I mean?” 

“What?” Fitz gaped at the psychologist, whose impassive demeanor suggested that he’d merely inquired after the weather. “No! What kind of –” 

“Because,” Andrew interrupted, reaching for the manila folder on the table next to him, “there’s a note in your file that you were under watch for a while.” Glancing back up from the papers, he raised an eyebrow. “Unofficially.” 

“ _What_?” Fitz's mouth hung open as he tried to figure out why someone would have put him under watch for something like that. As much as the past year had arguably been the most miserable of his entire life, he couldn’t imagine ever doing something so drastic and final. “When?”

“About six months ago,” he answered, referring to the file.

“Oh.” It clicked for Fitz, then: That had been about when he’d realized that Jemma wasn’t coming back from her supposed trip to visit her parents.

After having received an email back from Jemma’s mum that she'd only been home for a week, he’d gone to Coulson to urge him to send agents out to look for her, to make sure she hadn’t been captured, but he’d had a stutter-attack in the middle of his entreaty. The memory of the mixed pity and recoil on the Director’s face was still sharp; either he or May, who had been in the room at the time, must have given the order. Knowing that they’d made that kind of assumption about his own ability to cope without Jemma rankled him. Admittedly, he _had_ begun to hallucinate her at around the same time, but none of them knew that – and missing someone more than you’d ever missed anything or anyone in your life was different from wanting not to exist anymore. His subconscious – in the form of Jemma herself – had made that very clear to him on more than one occasion.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “you’d have to ask them about that, not me. I’d never... that’s just not me, okay?”

After a pause, Andrew gave him a small nod. “It also says here that you refused to see a SHIELD-sanctioned psychologist during your recovery.” 

Fitz found his mood darkening by the minute, feeling rather like he was being interrogated. “I didn’t need one.” 

“The kind of change that comes with a brain injury can be tough to accept. A lot of people find –” 

“I wasn’t the one who had trouble accepting it,” he muttered, realizing too late that he’d said it out loud.

Closing the folder, Andrew returned to studying him. “Ah, I get it. Who did?”

“No one.”

Andrew chuckled, tossing the file to the side. “Alright, we can get back to that. You never answered my other question. About why you shot yourself.”

“I needed to protect them,” he answered without a pause. “The others, my team.”

“Of course,” Andrew said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re a SHIELD agent. And a scientist. And I imagine you must be afraid you’re gonna lose all that.” 

Fitz flicked his eyes down to the mattress, fighting the urge to grab a pillow and hug it to his chest. “Been afraid of that for a while now. S’not new.”

“See, and that’s why you should’ve considered a psychologist earlier,” he said, voice teasing rather than instructive. When Fitz met his gaze, Andrew was smiling, and he quirked up his lips in a half-response. “When she asked me to consult, Melinda said that you were quaking in your sleep yesterday.”

Flinching briefly at the memory of the dream that had caused the shaking, he looked away again and exhaled. He didn’t want to follow that line of questioning any more than he did the ICER one, but he had to choose the lesser of two evils. “I also... I shot myself because I couldn’t stop it. What I was doing.”

“How does it feel?” Fitz gave him a bemused look, and Andrew clarified. “When it’s happening. The shaking.” 

“It’s terrifying.”

Fitz couldn’t even begin to conceive of how to explain in words what it was like to know that you were losing control, but not to know how or why. His own body was betraying him again, and in some ways it was worse than the brain injury. Even at the hardest moments of his recovery, he always knew what was going wrong or why he couldn’t think of the words to say. He could blame himself, or Ward, or even Jemma for bringing him along on her journey into mystery in the first place, although he wouldn’t change the latter for the world. But with the powers, his ineptitude came from nowhere – it was inside himself in a way he’d never felt before, located at his center and yet emanating out of every cell of his body. Only dreamless unconsciousness shut that horrifying newness out completely, but even that was rarely in his reach. When it was the worst, it felt like falling into the ocean again – knowing that the impact would come, but having no idea what to expect for the fallout.

“I’d imagine so.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped his throat, and Fitz shook his head. “Good pep talk.”

Andrew smiled, eyes never leaving Fitz’s face. “Sarcasm. So that’s your thing. Well, it’s an effective way to avoid thinking about how monumentally painful your life is right now.” 

“Right _now_ , yeah,” Fitz said, past the point of being able to hold back his resentment about being questioned like he’d intentionally done something wrong. “Because this... this thing inside me is the only bad thing that’s happened in the past year.”

“It’s a good avoidance strategy –” 

“I’m in here with you, aren’t I? Didn’t argue or try to get out of it. What’m I avoiding?” He could feel his own accent curling more thickly out of his mouth in his frustration, but he couldn’t quite stop himself. In his earliest years at the Academy, he’d had to work hard to flatten his accent out enough that the Americans could understand him, and if he didn’t know better he’d say he was regressing out of stress.

“The truth,” Andrew replied, voice taking on a firmer tone than he’d used so far. “That you’re different now –” 

“Yeah, I’m well aware of that, thanks –”

“And that you have abilities. Abilities that are triggered by fear, and either you face that or you don’t sleep again.”

Fitz frowned, keeping his eyes trained downwards and ignoring the voice in the back of his head that wanted to argue that he wasn’t afraid. But then again, the powers themselves seemed to have no filter, so perhaps they were manifesting a kind of fear to which he wouldn’t consciously give purchase.

“I dreamed I was at the bottom of the ocean. You... I mean, I guess that’s –” He nodded towards the manila folder, and Andrew nodded.

“Yeah, that’s in there.” 

“Right,” he breathed, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with so much about himself being stored in something so bland and innocuous. “And I... I couldn’t find her.”

“Jemma Simmons,” Andrew offered a little too smoothly, and Fitz wondered how much May had told him that wasn’t in SHIELD’s records.

“Yeah. She was there one second and then she was gone, and the walls started shaking and I... I knew I was doing it, but I couldn’t stop. I tried looking for her, but the glass blew in because of this... thing inside me, and that’s when I woke up. When they woke me up.”

Andrew let out a low hum, squinting in thought and crossing his own arms across his chest. “Interesting.”

“Glad you think so,” he muttered, and Andrew chuckled, rubbing one hand against his broad jaw. 

“I just mean that there’s a lot in there – dreams can be coded or simple, and that one sort of straddles the line. Like your life, all the problems in the dream sort of come in a rush. You’re trapped, she’s gone, your powers are out of control. And it ends with you being consumed by all of them.” He arched an eyebrow and gave Fitz a wry smile. “That’s some scary shit.” They both laughed at that, a sort of dry catharsis for the revelation of something so personal. After a moment, Andrew leaned forward, returning to his thoughtful stare. “I’m just wondering – and obviously I don’t know, ‘cause I just met you both today. But I’m just wondering if you’ve told Agent Simmons that she’s been a part of your nightmares.”

A knock at the door echoed through the square room, and Andrew stretched out of the chair to answer it, leaving Fitz to mull over his suggestion. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Jemma greeted them from the other side of the door, smile and medical kit both present. As the psychologist moved aside to allow her space to enter, however, the room began to quiver, and they both turned to Fitz. His own gaze was drawn immediately to the pain that bloomed under Jemma’s concern, and he shook his head, brows furrowing in confusion.

“That’s not me.”

“Are you sure?” Andrew still had his hand on the door as Fitz pressed his palms against his own torso, instinctively checking for something that he wouldn’t be able to feel anyway. 

“Yeah, definitely – it’s quiet,” he added, pointing to the center of his chest. “Not me.” At that, the other man strode quickly out of the cell. The plane’s loud shaking dulled the silence briefly, until he noticed that Jemma had ducked her head, swiping at her cheek as she bent over the medical kit. “Hey, it wasn’t – that wasn’t you.” His words were halting, the ability to reassure her returning slowly to him. “I swear, I’m not doing this. I can – can feel it when I am.”

Jemma nodded, inhaling deeply before lifting out a stethoscope. “May I...?” He gave her a bemused look but shrugged his agreement. “I just thought – you said it was quiet,” she explained, sitting on the mattress as he scooted to the edge of the bed. “It only just occurred to me now that maybe we could hear something.”

“What would that tell us?” He didn’t mean to be skeptical, not really, but even if she could hear the otherness inside his chest, he couldn’t imagine what that would tell her diagnostically.

“I don’t know,” she answered simply, putting the ends in her ears and breathing on the flat metal reader to warm it up. “But that’s why I’d like to try.” Fitz tried very hard not to shudder as she slid her hand up the front of his shirt, inhaling sharply as the still-cold metal came into contact with his skin. “Sorry.” She was close enough to him by this point that he could feel her breath on his neck, which just made him shiver again.

“S’okay,” he said, voice gruff, reminding himself that wanting to be close to her was not something he should feel. As she listened carefully, shifting the stethoscope periodically to search out further sounds, footsteps approached the cell. To Fitz’s surprise, this time it was Skye who peeked her head around the door, and she raised her eyebrows as she saw the position they were in – sitting close together on the bed, with Jemma’s hand up his shirt.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interr–”

“What’s going on?” Fitz interrupted her as quickly as possible, and Skye let out a small pout when Jemma pulled back, revealing the stethoscope in her hand.

“I’m really sorry about this,” she said, stepping fully into the room and revealing that she was wearing mission gear. “But Coulson and Bobbi need backup, and May said we didn’t have time to clear you out first. My dad’s collected a whole barrelful of whackjobs now, and – yeah, basically it’s fucked up, and we need to get to them ASAP. Don’t worry, though, you guys will be safe on the Bus –”

“I want to help,” he blurted out, earning an incredulous look from Jemma and a surprised one from Skye. 

“What?”

“Fitz, you can’t be serious...” Jemma started, but trailed off as he shot off the bed and towards Skye.

“I haven’t quaked in hours,” he argued, holding out his hands as if to prove it (never mind the fact that his hands being steady enough had nothing to do with his powers). “I’ve got it under control now, I think – you saw me do it this morning, Jemma, when I stopped it before it really started.”

Flicking her gaze between the two of them, Jemma hesitated before giving an uneasy nod. “You did it once, but....”

“I wouldn’t be in the fight anyway,” he barreled on, “and most of my equipment should still be in the garage, unless Mack moved it. I can help from here on the plane, far away from your dad – or... or anyone.” He paused for a breath, noting how neither of them seemed convinced, with Skye tapping her fingers along the grip of her ICER and Jemma squeezing her hands into fists along her side. “Please. I just want to help.”

Skye sighed, and shared a brief look with Jemma. “May’s not gonna like this.”

“Then I’m just gonna have to convince her,” Fitz said, angling himself to stride around them and into the hallway, and sounding a lot more confident than he felt. But he was galvanized by the prospect of being able to help on a real mission after having been cooped inside the base for so much of the past year, and especially since they’d returned from Puerto Rico. If he had the chance to prove that he was still competent, that he was worth supporting, then he was going to jump at it.

 

\------

 

True to Skye’s prediction, May hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of Fitz doing anything regarding this support mission, but both Jemma and Andrew’s promise to make sure he stayed on the Bus and far away from the action ultimately helped to sway her. Skye and May moved out to help Coulson and Bobbi as soon as they touched down, leaving the other three in the comms room. Frankly, Fitz thought that this mission was a piece of cake, especially compared to some of the things he’d been doing for the team back before his injury. He had four drones following them into the football field, video streaming back to the Bus so that they could give May and Skye (since Coulson and Bobbi didn’t have comms) a heads-up in case any new threats emerged at the last minute. One of them – Sleepy, to be specific – was loaded with a dendrotoxin grenade, which Fitz was supposed to release when he thought he had a good shot at knocking out any of the hostiles.

As he worked, fingers flying steadily over the drones’ control tablet, he could feel Andrew’s steady gaze on the back of his head. Jemma was attempting to help him with her own tablet, focusing on directing Sneezy through the nearby buildings to make sure that there wasn’t anyone else waiting to catch the team unawares. To her credit, she only snuck a handful of worried glances at him – which he studiously ignored. Placing the tablet on the table, he shoved his sleeves up his arms, almost able to pretend that this was a normal mission for a few minutes. 

A circular blue forcefield enveloped Skye’s father in the middle of the confrontation, and when it was gone, so was he. For a brief moment, Fitz thought that maybe this would end the fight, that Cal’s powered cronies would shrink at the loss of their leader and give themselves up. But considering from whence they came, perhaps he should’ve expected that leadership was irrelevant to their personal crusades against SHIELD, and the fight went on. 

“Are you sure you want to see this, Fitz?” Andrew’s voice was low as he made his way around the central table, all three of them keeping their eyes trained on the drones’ video feeds. “It might be upsetting....”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, forcing down the fearful tingles in his chest as he watched Skye roundhouse kick one of the powered people to the ground. “I know SHIELD’s policy for people on the Index.”

“I mean, it’s not the same,” Jemma said, glancing at Andrew as if she was trying to reassure herself as much as Fitz. “They’d never need to do this with you.” 

“I know.” His voice was sharp again, but he couldn’t stop the panic that washed over him as he felt the buzzing in his chest grow, the drones continuing to capture the fight from above. May strode towards one of the men, face impassive as she prepared to beat him senseless, and a strong tremor rolled out from Fitz’s hands and into the Bus. 

“I’m fine,” he gasped, screwing his face up as he tried to pull back on the panic-triggered shaking. But the rolling quakes just kept going. Andrew and Jemma began to try to talk him down, their own fear just fueling his own.

He squeezed his fists shut tight on either side of the tablet, glancing up at the drones he was supposed to be controlling, and he caught a glimpse of Skye fighting with one of her father’s lackeys. One of his closest friends in the world, a girl who had once spent all of her time cooped up in a van so she could code her way through saving the world, was landing blow after vicious blow against someone who had been driven mad by his unearthly powers. Fitz knew she’d never attack him like this, he knew that and yet he couldn’t stop the bile that rose in his throat at the look on her face, at the easy violence that had made its home there. 

The plane started shifting on its wheels with the force of his powers, Jemma pleaded with him to calm down, and Andrew disappeared, probably to get something to force him to stop. Fitz couldn’t hear anything over the power pulsing out of his body, and he realized that if he kept going, Jemma wasn’t going to leave his side, her hands gripping his arms in utter panic. If she stayed by him while he destroyed the plane, she’d be hurt – or even killed. So yet again, he forced the power he didn’t understand back in on himself, sending a shockwave of something out to draw it back in, and with one last shake the Bus stilled.

Breathing heavily, she let go of him and said something, but he couldn’t hear her because searing pain shot suddenly up his arms. Fitz let out a shocked cry, watching blood bruises bloom along his forearms almost instantly, and just at the height of his agony everything went dark.


	4. Are your bones burning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [Notbroken](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gELGw_u37dg) by the Goo Goo Dolls.

When Fitz faded into consciousness, it took him a while to remember why he’d passed out in the first place. Sorting through the memories was also made more difficult by the fact that someone was stroking their thumb affectionately over his cheek and distracting him. He felt warm and comfortable, and it wasn’t until the dull ache in his arms made itself known that he forced himself to fully wake up. A few moments passed as he overcame the struggle to open his eyes, and with a start he realized that Jemma was the one petting him.

“How do you feel?” she murmured, and as he blinked away his sleep he recognized the hexagonal pattern of the cell’s grey-blue walls. Her eyes were soft as she watched him, worry creasing her brows and her hand continuing to caress his skin. He reached instinctively up to cover her hand with his own, not sure what this meant but wanting to prolong it as long as he could. The look on her face let him pretend, for just a few seconds, that maybe she cared for him, too. Before he could move his arm far, though, he realized that something was wrapped tightly around his hands and forearms, restricting his movement.

Once he sat clumsily up and leaned against the wall, Fitz stared down at the dark, strange-looking casts, studying their design. Judging by the pain he’d experienced as he passed out earlier, he was probably on medication now, although he wondered if the casts were also providing some kind of dulling effect. His arms weren’t numb, per se (of which he was acutely reminded when he leaned too heavily on one of them), but they certainly weren’t as aware of sensation as they should be.

Jemma scooted back a bit to let him resettle himself, watching carefully as he took a deep breath and then turned to the other people in the room. May and Andrew stood along the opposite wall, although they both stepped forward at his glance, and Skye was perched on the end of the bed. To his shame, he recoiled upon seeing her, and he dropped his gaze to his lap. The memory of watching her pummel someone like him (a _monster_ , repeated the voice inside his head, the voice that sounded suspiciously like Jemma’s) made his stomach churn. He had to remind himself that this was Skye, his friend, and that the expression on her face now was one of concern and not fear or disgust.

“What happened?” His voice was scratchy, and he felt rather like he’d done this too often recently, been unconscious and studied worriedly by his teammates, all of whom arguably had more important things to be focusing on than him. “My arms....” 

“The bruising was caused by capillary ruptures,” Jemma explained quietly, reaching out to turn one of his hands over. “The x-rays showed more than seventy-five hairline fractures from your clavicle to your fingers.”

He took in the way her lips quivered and she avoided meeting his eyes, and he looked around at the concern in the others’ faces. “I... s-sorry, I don’t understand. My head’s....” 

“You weren’t stopping your powers, Fitz,” Andrew said, voice low as he stepped further into the dim fluorescents. “You were directing them inward.”

Skye made a jerky move forward, as if she wanted to reach for him but had stopped herself, and Fitz realized that her eyes were red-rimmed. Instead, she just shook her bangs out, taking in a short breath.  

The casts were rigid on the outside, fit tightly around his palms and wrists, and what he could see of the skin on his fingers around the gauntlets was faintly pink, in a way that was too bright to be healthy.

Inhaling, Jemma raised his left hand. “I made the casts from compression microfibers to help contain the shaking, minimize the damage.”

Dull horror swept through him as he tried to squeeze his hands into fists and couldn’t, his mouth going dry. “Will I – my hands, will I be able to use them...?” 

“Yes,” she said quickly, giving him a small smile. “There was no nerve damage, your hands will heal perfectly –”

“As long as you stop internalizing your fear,” Andrew added, and Jemma sucked in a breath. “Otherwise, there’s no telling what’ll happen next time.”

“And, um...” Jemma said, reaching over to grab a small box from the table. “Your monitor, you were wearing it when....” As she tilted the box so he could see inside, the clatter of miniscule mechanical parts reached his ears before he could actually see the mess. “I think I managed to collect everything, but....”

“We’ll figure this out, Fitz,” May interjected, her face as calm and self-assured as ever, and he wished he believed her words as much as she seemed to.

“Together,” Skye added, stretching one arm out this time and grabbing onto his knee. Rather than speak, Jemma just nodded fervently as he slid his gaze over to her, and he tried very hard not to let any tears escape. Her eyes were bright, jaw set in a familiar, determined expression.

He’d been pushing everyone away for so long, through most of his recovery, that having them all here now to support him felt overwhelming. But, miracle of all miracles, he managed to keep it together long enough to nod and give them all a tight smile, hoping against everything that May was right.

 

\------

 

The next morning, Fitz was clumsily trying to work the electric teakettle Skye had snuck out of the mess hall for him when Jemma rushed into the cell and snapped the door closed behind her.

“Uh... morning?” He set the kettle slowly into its cradle. To his annoyance, the handle slipped against the hard, smooth fabric of his cast and tilted the whole thing slightly askew. Rather than answer, she just flattened herself against the door and stared hard back at him, rather like she was trying to work out a problem by studying his face. “What’s going on, Jemma? You’re kind of freaking me out –” 

“I’m working myself up to disobeying a direct order,” she said quickly, chewing anxiously on her bottom lip.

“Oh... kay.” Fitz frowned, trying to put his hands on his hips and then letting out a _tsk_ of annoyance when the casts prevented him from bending his wrists like that. “Can I... do something...?”

“I hope so,” she murmured, taking a deep sigh and then sitting primly in one of the chairs. Taking note of her expectant expression, he pulled one of the other chairs over and sat down, too. And waited. 

After far too long of a silence, he leaned forward, twisting one thumb into the cloth-covered palm of his other hand. “So...?”

“Coulson instructed me to find out more about your and Raina’s powers and how to stop them if necessary and told me not to tell anyone else about my research but I would really appreciate your help because it would make far more sense if we worked together on it.” Having finished her speed-explanation, she sucked in a deep breath and tangled her fingers together on her lap.

“Why would he want to keep that a secret?” Fitz said, brows furrowing in confusion, and she just gave him a baleful shake of her head.

“I have no idea – it’s as if keeping secrets has become compulsory since Hydra.” Sighing, she glanced up at him. “I can understand not telling most of SHIELD details about your powers, or even any of the others, because I don’t trust anyone else to have your best interests at heart right now. But why wouldn’t he want me to tell _you_? It doesn’t make sense.”

A small vein of warmth spread through him at the implication that she was putting his interests above those of SHIELD, and he exhaled. “Thanks for telling me –”

“I wouldn’t keep something like that from you,” she interrupted, and he bit back an unwarranted and bitter comment about how she’d only kept her contact details and real reasons for leaving a secret instead. “Not when I’m supposed to be studying _you_.”

“Yeah, well, I dunno if I’ll be able to help –”

She interrupted him again, this time with a brusque scoff. “Of course you will, you’ve got the best insight into what happens during the release of your powers –”

“Maybe, but –”

“And you’re the best mechanical engineer in the world –”

“You don’t –”

“Apart from Tony Stark –” 

“Actually know – wait, what?”

“And are therefore the most qualified person to work on an inhibitor –”

“Jemma, you’re sort of –”

“And I miss – working together.”

“Not getting the... oh.” Fitz stalled, swallowing thickly as he watched a flush bloom on her cheeks.

“I could almost certainly manufacture something on my own,” she hastened to add, and he stifled a grin at her instinctive competitiveness. “I’ve been sketching out designs for a glove prototype – something that would emit a surge of electricity to inhibit the powers and not harm you, decreasing the magnitude of the quaking to avoid you needing to turn them inward again. But I’m concerned about side effects, and you’ll be able to construct the pulse-emission better than I would and....” She tilted her head, allowing a small wince to cross her features. “We’ve always worked better together, haven’t we?” 

Nodding slowly, he quirked up the corners of his lips. “Course I’ll help. I was just gonna say that it might take me longer, because of....” He gestured at his head.

“I’d rather it take longer than be done quickly and shoddily,” she said with a sniff. “We’re talking about your _life_ , Fitz, not an addition to some drone.”

“Right, okay.” He frowned then, glancing at the closed door to the cell. “Should we tell Skye? She’s in here often enough, she’ll notice....”

Jemma was already shaking her head before he finished, reaching over to snag his tablet off a nearby table. “Not yet, not until we know more. She’s busy enough looking for her father these days, anyway. Now,” she said, unlocking the screen, “do you want to get started, or are you busy?”

Rather than answer right away, he stared at her for a moment, having realized that she’d just unlocked his tablet without a second thought. Which meant that she remembered his password, the one he’d told her years ago, because it’d just seemed simpler than having to unlock it for her every time she needed it in the lab. Then again, he still remembered hers, too, the shared codes once having seemed second-nature and now catching him by surprise. Her remembering it shouldn’t actually be a shock, because they’d been friends for far longer than they’d been fighting – even if the fighting had felt endless and the friendship not nearly long enough.

“Yeah,” he managed to get out, clearing his throat. “Now’s fine – I was just, um....” He waved one hand sheepishly at the kettle, which was only halfway onto the stand.

“Oh! Of course,” she said, giving him a warm smile and standing to lift the kettle. “I’ll get enough water for myself, too, then, shall I?”

He nodded, giving her a full smile this time before she turned towards the cell door, and then holding it for a few seconds after she was out of sight. Even though Fitz knew that he had a long road ahead of him, working with Jemma again (and knowing that she wanted to) made him feel a distinct sense of calm he’d almost forgotten: Knowing that no matter what happened, they’d figure it out. Together.

 

\------

 

The ensuing few hours were the most productive that Fitz could remember having in months, he and Jemma rapidly progressing from brainstorming to mocking up a prototype. Their words and ideas were in sync as they hadn’t been since before his injury, and she kept smiling at him in the way that she used to – not the new, forced one she’d been using since her return from Hydra. He was even able to forget for most of the time that he loved her and she didn’t love him back. Aside from the cumbersome casts on his arms, things felt almost normal between them.

They finished packing up the prototype-making supplies – with Jemma needing to make the last few touches in the actual lab – just in time to keep their collaboration on the project a secret. As she completed the last of his vitals checks, Coulson knocked on the cell door’s frame.

“Simmons, how’s he doing today?”

“Well, sir,” she said, unstrapping the blood pressure cuff from Fitz’s arm and securing it in her medical kit. 

“Would you mind giving us a few minutes alone?”

Rather than the automatic acquiescence that Fitz would have expected, she stood there wordlessly for a few, long seconds, studying the Director intensely before the calculation behind her expression disappeared and she gave him a congenial nod.

“Of course.” Turning briefly back to Fitz, she gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He frowned, wondering if the Director would ask her to explain that, but as she disappeared into the corridor Coulson didn’t seem to notice what she’d said – and neither did he question the extra bag she took with her upon leaving.

Coulson closed the door and gave Fitz a thoughtful look, standing in the middle of the messier-than-usual cell with his hands in his pockets. “You should pack a bag – something that’ll last you about a week, I think.”

A chill slithered through Fitz and one thumb pressed automatically into the palm of his other hand. “I’m not allowed to stay here anymore.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Coulson equivocated, reaching down to pick up the three-monkey statue Fitz had brought from his main bunk. “It’s temporary. Just until you’ve got a handle on your powers. Mack needs your help in the garage, we can’t be without you for too long.”

Fitz didn’t return his smile, already spinning out all the worrisome places where he could be headed. “Where’m I going?” 

Returning the monkeys to the table, Coulson shook his head. “Meet me at the quinjet in twenty minutes – take off in thirty. Oh, and don’t tell anyone that you’re going. Best we do this under the radar.”

Although the last instruction didn’t surprise him, he also had no intention of following it – at least, not in regards to Jemma. She’d already told him that Skye was out on a mission today, so unfortunately he had no recourse to tell his friend where he’d gone. He suspected that Coulson would get an earful when she returned.  

On his way out of the Bus after Coulson, a small duffel with the possessions he’d brought to the cell tucked under his arm, Fitz made a quick turn into his old bunk. They’d all kept a few things on the Bus with the expectation that sometimes they’d need to leave on a mission at the last minute, and there was something he wanted with him if he didn’t know how long he was going to be away. Not much of value was left in the miniscule room, but he made a beeline for the desk, reaching out to gently pull a snapshot off of the wood laminate. It was the picture Jemma had snapped on her phone when they’d been at the temple in Peru, both of their faces looking practically cherubic in comparison to today. After they’d survived their second mission (and blasting a hole through the side of this very plane), he’d printed two copies of the picture out in the lab, keeping one for himself and leaving the other on Jemma’s workstation. 

Fitz didn’t know what she’d done with hers (in a way, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know), but he did know that if he was going to be alone again, this time he wanted at least a small part of her with him. He knew they’d never go back to the way things had been between them at the time, to that easy friendship unburdened by feelings, but the memories... those were good. No matter what things were like now, he had the memories to fuel him in darker moments. And after this morning, he had a little hope to hold onto, too.

Unfortunately, even though he searched in the lab, the mess hall, and her bunk, Jemma was nowhere to be found, and by the time he finished hunting he’d run out of time. Leaving a message with someone else wasn’t even an option since he wasn’t supposed to be telling anyone that he was going away, so he returned to the Playground’s hangar feeling discomfited. His duffel’s strap cut into his shoulder and he shifted it around, trying to ignore the guilt he felt at not being able say goodbye to her in person, particularly since they’d just had such a good, productive morning together.

As Fitz approached the open loading dock of the quinjet, however, he was surprised to hear Jemma’s voice coming from inside the plane – her tone one of distinct anger.

“It wasn’t hard to guess, Director, I began gathering supplies as soon as I left the Bus and followed Trip –” 

“I appreciate your thoroughness,” Coulson said, cutting her off, and as Fitz rounded the end of the dock he could see the two of them standing toe-to-toe, although neither noticed him. Trip was also on the plane, standing by the entrance to the cockpit with his arms crossed and brows furrowed. “But you’re not cleared –” 

“I thought you removed agent levels,” she snapped, and Fitz flinched in surprise, unable to remember the last time he’d seen his best friend so outwardly confrontational.

“And more importantly, SHIELD needs you here.” Coulson shifted on his feet so that he stood even taller than the diminutive biochemist. “You’re the head of the Science Division, Agent Simmons, you can’t just –”

“Quit? I’ll do it if you don’t let me take care of him.” 

Both of them jumped slightly at the sound of Fitz’s duffel hitting the ground, and he cringed, not having intended to reveal his presence in quite that way. “J-Jemma,” he stammered, “you can’t –” 

“It doesn’t make sense to send him away by himself,” Jemma interrupted, cheeks pinking as she turned back to the Director. “He can’t observe himself in the same way that someone else can, and he needs a doctor –”

“In case he hurts himself? You realize that you’d be in danger, too,” Coulson pointed out, voice gentling as he gave Fitz a brief glance. “We’ll be in touch, but help would be pretty far away.”

“I’ll take my chances.” She set her jaw, hands clenched at her sides. “You wanted me to find out more about his abilities, and observing him away from the stressors of the base is the best way for me to do that.”

Silence fell between them as Coulson studied Jemma where she stood, having proverbially dug her heels in next to a pile of lab cases and boxes nearly as tall as she. Something spread through Fitz’s chest, and it took him a second to realize that it wasn’t the same pulse that he now associated with his powers, even though was a distinct sort of ache. It was for Jemma, for hearing her want to stay by his side so openly, for the kind of relationship that they’d never had – and that she’d made it very clear she didn’t want. The feeling was bittersweet, as had been most of their reconciliation.

After a moment, the Director turned to Fitz with a wry smile. “Well, Agent Fitz – what do you think about having some company?” 

He gave them something between a shrug and a nod as he reached down to grab his bag, but once Coulson had turned to Trip, Fitz gave Jemma a grateful smile. Tension seeped out of her shoulders at that and she grinned in return, bending down to begin securing the obscene amount of supplies she’d apparently managed to roll onto the quinjet in a very short amount of time. 

As Coulson stepped aside to do something on his phone, Trip gave Fitz a quick smile. “Don’t worry – I’m cleared to fly.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” he deadpanned back, dropping his duffle alongside one of the plane’s walls, and Trip chuckled.

“They’re starting me out easy – good weather today, and it’s pretty much a straight shot.”

“How’re you feeling?” Fitz pulled down one of the passenger seats and set about strapping himself in.

Trip shrugged, pushing up the sleeves of his dark-wash shirt. “Alright. Been pretty good the past couple days, actually –”

“I should hope so,” Jemma interrupted, trotting over to take a seat next to Fitz. “You’ve been eager enough to escape your medically-recommended confinement.” Despite the wryness to her tone, her expression was fond, and Trip just gave them both a sheepish grin.

“What can I say – I don’t like being cooped up.”

Coulson returned from the end of the loading dock, then, and Trip ducked into the cockpit. Having secured her own harness, Jemma reached into the small knapsack she had at her feet and brought out a large, almost-cylindrical package wrapped neatly in white paper.

“I was going to bring you this for dinner on the Bus,” she explained, handing it to Fitz and not-quite meeting his eyes. “But in case you get hungry on the flight....” 

His mouth dropped open as he felt the firm crust of bread through the wrapping, and he stared at her. “Is it –” 

“Your favorite.”

His heart gave a tight lurch at the hesitant smile she gave him, and he had to look quickly away to suppress the bizarre urge to kiss her. “Um, thanks, Jemma. That’s really... thanks.”

She ducked her head in a shy sort-of answer, fishing around for something in her bag, and he had to force himself to focus on unwrapping the sandwich and not on parsing out her behavior.

Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have questioned her thoughtfulness one iota – he still didn’t, not exactly, but it still struck him. As if he’d expected her kindness to stop short once she’d learned about his unreciprocated feelings. Pulling away the paper, Fitz couldn’t resist lifting the sandwich to give it a healthy sniff – _just a hint of pesto aioli_ – eyes closing in blissful anticipation.

Across the plane, Coulson finished snapping on his harness, and as Fitz opened his eyes to take his first bite the Director flicked his gaze between the sandwich and Jemma. “Is there enough to share?”

Just as Fitz was about to rip off the wrapper of the second half to hand it over, Jemma responded. “No. I only made enough for Fitz.”

An awkward silence descended as she leaned back in her seat, hands gathered primly in her lap, and a faint laugh could be heard from the pilot’s chair. Swallowing thickly, Fitz glanced between Jemma and the Director, unsure of whether he should continue with his instinctive offer to share or not. After a moment, though, Coulson just chuckled and folded his arms across his chest.

“That’s what I get for planning this at the last minute.”

“Why at the last minute?” Speaking around a mouthful of sandwich, Fitz wiped crumbs away with his sleeve. “I mean, d’you mind if I ask what, um, prompted this? Sir?”

“Before he left yesterday, Andrew recommended that you be removed from SHIELD effective immediately.” All of the blood left Fitz’s face, and he could feel air struggling to get into his lungs. Coulson leaned forward quickly. “Not forever – just until we understand this better. To keep the agency and its agents safe.” The Director waited until Fitz made eye contact then, exhaling lightly before continuing. “Your job will always be yours, Fitz. No matter what.”

“Good,” Jemma said, tone again sharper than one would normally expect from her. Fitz studied her side-on as he chewed through another bite, trying to figure out why she was acting so brusquely with Coulson, who he knew that she highly respected and genuinely liked. If Fitz didn’t know better, he’d think that it might be Coulson’s instructions about keeping the gloves a secret or the attempt to spirit Fitz away unannounced, but neither thing was exactly extreme behavior for SHIELD. 

“Anyway, I was trying to arrange something else, but it didn’t pan out – so here we are.”  Nodding slightly, Fitz wondered what plan A had been, but he knew better than to bother asking. “We’ve got some time until we’re there,” Coulson said, relaxing back into his seat. “Mind if I ask you a question?” Fitz shrugged his assent, polishing off the first half of the sandwich and reaching for the second. “What do you know about your father?” 

“He left Fitz’s mum before he was born....” Jemma trailed off when Fitz shot her a look over the sandwich, and her cheeks flushed. “Sorry, you – um... go ahead.”

The way she dropped her gaze to her lap made a vein of guilt thread through him; he hadn’t meant to make her feel badly, not really, even if truthfully he _had_ been a second away from a snappy retort about how the Director had addressed the question to him. “Um, what Simmons said,” he started, lowering his lunch to his lap. “Mum didn’t like to talk about him much. All I got is that she’d thought he designed plane engines when they got married, but he was just a car mechanic. Couldn’t, um, hold down a job, didn’t have any family that she’d ever met – he didn’t even tell her he was leaving. Got a call one night that upset him, and then he was gone the next morning.” His voice stuttered to a stop as Jemma’s hand curled comfortingly around his forearm, and it took him a few seconds to shake himself back to the topic at hand. “She had the marriage annulled when I was a tike, and if she ever heard from him again she never told me.” 

“So you don’t know anything about his family? Nothing?”

Fitz shook his head. “I can ask my mum, but she was always really into sharing – said she told me everything. He was from just outside of Glasgow, too, and she thought he might’ve been at a Catholic orphanage for a while. Liked making nun jokes, apparently. But that’s it.”

“You think whatever the obelisk unlocked in his DNA could be hereditary,” Jemma mused, leaning forward, all signs of her previous pique with the Director now absent.

Coulson nodded, tapping his fingers against an elbow. “Judging by Cal’s reaction to Skye not having gone through her transformation in the temple, we think he expected her to be given powers. He was completely thrown by someone else having gotten them instead – and pretty upset, too, until he was taken away by the guy with the blue light.”

“Why couldn’t it be from my mum?” Fitz asked this around another mouthful of sandwich, having decided that politesse was overrated when he could smell the prosciutto wafting up from his lap. 

“SHIELD has a full record of her genealogical history,” Coulson said offhandedly, making Fitz’s eyebrows rise practically to his hairline. “No indications of anything unusual from her family line, so –”

“It’s probably from my dad,” he finished for him, brows furrowing in thought. A familiar wave of bitterness rolled through him at the thought that his father was yet again responsible for something painful in his life.

(The memory of watching his mum sit in the kitchen late at night after she’d received the annulment papers had stuck with him to this day, even if he hadn’t pieced together what was happening until years later. He’d only been five years old at the time, but he remembered fervently wishing he knew how to make the tears stop as they dripped one by one onto the immaculately-cleaned kitchen table. The next day, he’d fashioned her a small mobile out of scrap metal he’d found in the dumpster next door, and her wonderstruck smile at the intricate, moving parts had completely made up for the inevitable scolding.)

Jemma’s thumb smoothed over the soft wool of his cardigan’s sleeve, and he found himself yet again distracted from more melancholic thoughts simply because of the strangeness of her behavior.

They passed the rest of the flight with comfortable, inane chatter, moving quickly away from speculation about Fitz’s father since none of them had any further evidence for or against the theory. Upon arrival and disembarkation, Fitz was at least mildly pleased to see wide, open woods, a quaint, spacious cabin, and a fetchingly blue lake – rather than a desolate, concrete prison facility. (He would be lying if he denied that such a building had been featured in more than one nightmare recently.)

“It’s one of Fury’s retreats,” Coulson explained as he, Jemma, and Fitz unloaded the last of the supplies in the cabin’s combined living room and kitchen. “I haven’t been here in years.”

As Fitz was busy peering into the two side rooms, sussing out which bedroom was bigger (and therefore which one he’d want to claim), Jemma sighed. “Sir, we’ve been with SHIELD long enough to know that this isn’t just a retreat.”

“It’s a safe house,” the Director conceded, pulling the white covers off of the furniture. “For people with powers. Rogers even spent a few weeks here after he defrosted.”

Fitz turned back with a frown on his face, rubbing one thumb into the center of his other palm. “A safe house. Who’s it supposed to keep safe, though? The people with powers – or, uh, everyone else?”

“Both.” The simple answer hung in the air, the tension only broken when Trip ducked through the low door, returning from his perimeter sweep. “That’s why the plan was for you to come out here by yourself....”

Face hidden as she bent over the aluminum cases, Jemma interrupted him with a derisive snort.

“All clear, Sir, and the laser fence is fully functional.” Trip automatically relaxed into a pseudo-military pose by the door, back straight and hands clasped together, and Fitz wryly noted that the man barely fit in the low, wooden building.

“Good, thanks,” Coulson said, glancing down at his phone. “Alright, we’ve gotta head out –”

“What, no time for s’mores?” Trip let loose a toothy grin, lightening up the room effortlessly and even getting Jemma to half-smile back at him.

“You always were a freeloader,” she joked.

“You don’t want Jemma’s s’mores anyway,” Fitz said, ambling back across the room and hunching his shoulders against the possibility that his teasing wouldn’t go over well. “She barely toasts ‘em.”

Much to his relief, she rolled her eyes back at him and _tsk_ ed in the same way she would have done before his injury. 

“C’mon girl,” Trip said, giving her a scandalized look. “You’ve gotta burn them!” Fitz shrugged and held his hands out in a ‘ _what can you do’_ gesture, and was thanked by Jemma smacking him playfully on the shoulder as she strode over to the kitchen.

“S’mores require a delicate balance –”

“S’mores don’t need a bloody thermometer,” Fitz shot back, a grin spreading across his face, and she stopped him with an indignant squawk.

“That was one time!” 

“Aaaalright, as much as I’m gratified to know that there are two schools of s’mores thought in here,” Coulson deadpanned, “we’ve gotta go. May needs to see me.” 

At the mention of the other agent, they all snapped to attention. Trip waved goodbye to Jemma, who gave him a warm smile over the kitchen counter (where she was now busy cataloguing the cabinets’ contents), and then stepped over to clap Fitz on the back.

“Hey, try to take it easy out here, okay?” 

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, glancing over at Jemma. “We’ll see.”

“Just think of it like a paid vacation – I’m pretty jealous, man,” Trip added, backing towards the front door. “Looks like a kickass fishing spot.”

A few seconds later, Coulson and Trip were out of the cabin, and it wasn’t long before Fitz heard the quinjet’s engines rev up on the other side of the tree line. Inhaling as he turned to the kitchen, where Jemma had progressed to grousing about the cabin’s previous occupant’s poor organizational skills, he tried not to feel nervous. He’d been relieved, and more than a little touched, when she’d insisted on coming with him, but knowing they were going to be in this isolated cabin together for an extended period of time was potentially worrisome. Their relationship had been so fraught for so long and was only just beginning to mend – would being stuck with only each other be bearable, or ruin their progress entirely?

Jemma called for him to bring her one of the supply boxes and he twisted quickly around to comply, knowing that – perhaps unfortunately – he’d have to just wait it out and hope for the best. And try to be on his best behavior. 

Once Fitz finished unpacking, and assisting Jemma with setting up a miniature lab station in a corner of the living room, he wasn’t totally sure what to do. Leaning against the doorframe of what was now his bedroom (he’d managed to argue himself into winning the bigger one after all), he watched Jemma finish sorting the paper copies of his vitals and her various observations of his condition. After Trip and Coulson’s departure, her manner had shifted slightly. Her movements were softer, more fluid and natural, as if once it was just the two of them something had lifted from her shoulders. Considering how nervous he was about being alone with her for twenty-four hours a day, he found that somewhat ironic. But then again, he reminded himself, she wasn’t in love with him. There was no reason for her to be nervous in the same way that he was. 

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, startling him out of his reverie – fortunately, he was able to return an expectant expression instead of a guilty one. A clipboard held to her chest and pen in hand, Jemma approached him and then halted a few steps away, glancing down at the glove-casts he still wore. “I should have the prototype of the new gloves ready for you soon, but until then I believe that it would be a good idea for you to practice using your powers.”

His mouth dropped open and he almost slid off his perch against the door. “Have you lost your bloody mind?!”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere –”

“I could bring this entire cabin down!” 

“First of all,” she said, using her most prim, know-it-all voice, “the cabin is built to resist superhuman powers. Secondly, we have access to half a forest and a lake! You could practice by the shore – and the water isn’t going to break.”

Feeling rather put upon, he rubbed his fingers against his temples. “What’m I supposed to be, um, practicing, exactly? I don’t even know what this,” he said, gesturing at his chest, “is supposed to do!”

“Oh, Fitz –!”

“Don’t ‘oh, Fitz’ me,” he shot back, clumsily propping his hands on his hips. “I don’t know anything about –”

“Just think about what you’ve done with it,” she said, gentling her voice. “Try to see if you can manipulate it, that earthquake-like behavior, try to get it to do what _you_ want it to. And at the very least, you could practice inciting it and then stopping it when you choose. This isn’t about using your powers, but finding some sort of control.” He groaned and scrubbed one hand down his face, needing to look away from the earnest sort of expectancy with which she was regarding him. Even if she was right, he had no idea how to go about doing what she asked. “I know it’s going to be hard,” she added carefully, and he reluctantly met her gaze. “But that should be our focus while we’re here.”

“ _Our_ ,” he mimicked, sounding rather more petulant than he would’ve liked. “Have any destructive and uncontrollable powers you’d like to share with the group?” She flinched, and he realized that he was being a complete bastard to someone who absolutely, completely didn’t deserve his ire. (Not today, anyway.) Fitz sighed, holding up his hands, palms out. “I’m sorry, Jemma, I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s alright,” she said quickly, although the smile she gave him was more thin-lipped than it had been earlier. “You’re worried, I completely understand. But I’m sure that once we’re by the lake, it –”

“ _We_ – you’re not coming with me!”

Her shoulders went back and her eyes hardened, but this time he had no intention of backing down. “I need to be there to observe you –”

“No, no way, not until I can actually control it in some way –”

“But –” 

“I’m not arguing about this, Jemma,” he said darkly. A few seconds of tense silence passed before Jemma released a sharp _tsk_.

“Fine. But the second you’re able to stop it at all, I want to be out there, too. I can’t do my job if I’m cooped up in here.” She folded her arms across the clipboard and her right foot gave a small half-stamp, in a tick deeply reminiscent of when they were back at the Academy and one of their tutors had insisted on curving the class grades yet again.

“Fine.” Exhaling, he reached out to take the clipboard and pen from her. “If I’m not back in more’n, I dunno, three hours, come looking for me.”

Once she’d nodded, he strode over to the door, ignoring her additional reminder that she was here if he needed any help. Even if he wanted to ask for help (which he didn’t) he didn’t know what she could do for him anyway, short of locking him up in a room somewhere so that he couldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.

The gorgeous walk to the lake was soured by Fitz’s annoyance with himself, every step he took over fallen branches and under the bright, cloudless sky feeling deeply unsatisfying. Lashing out at Jemma did neither of them any good, particularly because it frayed the tenuous reconnection they’d had over working on the prototype of his new gloves earlier that day. 

The lake itself was small and still, the wind today barely strong enough to create ripples that disturbed the mirrored tree line. Rocks lined the shore rather than sand, and Fitz identified a large boulder with an even enough surface to use as a table, laying down the clipboard and then the glove-casts. He winced as he slid them off both hands, dismayed at the purplish hue that still tinged his skin from the unintentional, self-inflicted bruising. At least the pain medication provided by SHIELD was localized to the injury and therefore didn’t affect his behavior, although he was wary of what would happen with him actively trying to use his powers. 

With the gloves off and no one close enough for him to hurt, aside from a few birds twittering in nearby trees, there wasn’t much left other than for him to simply... try it. Setting one foot firmly into the ground closer to the water, and digging his other heel in behind himself, Fitz raised both hands – and then rolled his eyes at how ridiculous he would look to any observers. One advantage of forbidding Jemma’s presence was that at least he didn’t have to worry about looking like a complete fool in front of her.

The foreign sensation of his powers roiling in his chest was, for once, relatively peaceful, and it took him a moment to focus on them. With a deep breath, he screwed his face up and tried to force that horrifying other outside of himself and across the water. 

He gave another futile push forward with his hands, then a third, and then threw them up in exasperation. Of course the ruddy powers wouldn’t cooperate when he actually _wanted_ to use them. Not one to give up so easily, however, he decided to try coming at it from another angle. Closing his eyes, Fitz thought back to what he’d felt like the last time he’d lost control. Carefully avoiding the actual thoughts that had triggered the Richter-scale-worthy panic attack, he focused on trying to emulate the physical feeing of the last time he’d lost control of his powers.

At first, nothing happened, and he let out a sharp noise of exasperation. After almost a minute, however, something moved beneath his feet. His eyes flew open to see the rocks at the water’s edge shivering on the ground, as if this small patch of the shore was undergoing a very localized earthquake. A smile broke across his face, and everything stilled instantly as his concentration broke. 

Finally, though, he was able to begin his experimentation in earnest, and he worked well into the early evening at focusing on that feeling and trying to send it outside of himself and see how he could affect his surroundings. In between his experiments, he took his own pulse rate and filled out Jemma’s questionnaire as fully as he could, although it did feel somewhat strange to be studying himself. The method of control he developed was crude, and Fitz could tell that there was some manner of comprehension about his powers that he was missing, but at least now he could instigate them – even if he hadn’t quite figured out how to get them to stop.

He wasn’t totally sure what triggered it, other than that a whole section of the shore to his left slid into the water and caused an impressive splash, but all of a sudden the image from his nightmares popped into his head. The pod at the bottom of the ocean shaking violently around him, bubbles clouding the window, and Fitz gasped, stumbling backwards as the ground underneath him lurched sharply to the side. That horrifying _something_ pulsed out from his chest – oh-so-different from the halting waves he’d been coaxing out all afternoon – and caused tremor after tremor to flow into the earth, even the trees beginning to shake with the force of it. His instinct was to try to pull in on himself again, but he stopped as soon as he thought of it, desperately not wanting to make the fractures in his arms any worse. Trying to stay his panic, he focused on quieting the buzzing in his chest, but all that happened was the emergence of two quakes so strong that he stumbled in place again.

A loud shriek came from behind him and he whipped around to see Jemma lying on the ground a few meters away. “ _Jemma!_ ” Fitz scrambled into motion, slipping on the loose earth and barely making it to her side before he fell to his knees, letting out a sharp cry of pain when his left hand came into harsh contact with the ground. Ignoring the dull ache that made its way through the medication, he leaned over to help Jemma up, although she was already halfway sitting by the time he made it to her. “Are you hurt?”

Her cool fingers wrapped around his elbow, steadying herself as he stared at her, sure that his gaze was as frantic as he felt. She shook her head in answer, suppressing a cringe as she let him pull her up. “No, no, I’m fine, I just wanted to see how you were.”

“ _Fuck_ Jemma,” he muttered, trying to slow down the racing beat of his heart and dimly noticing that while his attention had been focused on her, the quaking had ceased. He wished that the powers would at least be consistent – now it seemed that they could be stopped or triggered by anything, completely unpredictably. Pushing away from her and onto his feet, he rubbed his hands over his face. “You shouldn’t have been out here!” 

Getting gingerly to her feet, Jemma frowned at him. “It’s been over three hours, Fitz, I was just –” 

“Bloody reckless,” he tossed back at her as he grabbed the clipboard and glove-casts and strode back to the cabin. Panic still surged through him, the imagined image of her lying on the ground, eyes staring open and lifeless at the sky as blood pooled around her cracked skull flashing viciously through his head. “I _told_ you it’d be dangerous –” 

Following quickly after him, Jemma let out a high, indignant sound. “I came to check on you, just like you –”

“You could’ve been killed!” He rounded on her just before he reached the cabin door, adrenaline and latent fear fueling his rant. “You won’t listen to me! I’m a _weapon_ , Jemma, I’m dangerous, why can’t you get that in your head?!”

After staring at him with her mouth open for a second, she placed her hands on her hips and fixed him with one of her harshest glares. “Why can’t you get your head out of your arse?”

They stared at each other for a few, long seconds, and then – much to Fitz’s surprise – a stilted laugh burst out of his throat. Jemma flinched at first, not having expected that reaction, but eventually a small chuckle escaped her, too. His laugh faded at length into a groan, and he dropped his head back to look up at the darkening sky. “I’m sorry –”

“It’s okay –”

“I shouldn’t’ve yelled –”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” 

“I was just....” He trailed off, unsure of how to adequately explain the sheer terror that had surged through him at the thought of having hurt her.

“Scared,” she murmured, and held up a hand at the sight of his open-mouthed frown. “I was scared, too – when you hadn’t come back. _That’s_ why I went out there to look for you.” Swallowing his defensive rebuttal, Fitz gave her a slight nod and tried to ignore the embarrassed heat that fanned up the back of his neck. “I do have good news, though – I finished the glove prototype! Do you want to try them on?” She was already moving past him into the cabin, not waiting for an answer as she sped over to the relevant items and listed out all the things that had gone well and what hadn’t.

Nodding and interjecting questions while she spoke, he gingerly picked up one of the prototypes. The cloth felt rather like the spandex material in his tactical gear’s underarmor, although he could see the faint glisten of wiring that had been mechanically woven within the fibers (per his suggestion). Like the glove-casts he’d been wearing, they didn’t have fingers, which he deeply appreciated – his hands were clumsy enough these days without needing to operate through excess material. Once he’d listened to her miniature thesis on the potential risks of wearing them, he started to pull the gloves on. Although the left one went on without much fanfare, he struggled slightly with pulling on the right one, mostly because his left hand was sore from having landed on it so hard earlier. And of course, the left one was still the problem hand anyway, its dexterity still not quite as it had been before his injury. Jemma watched him in silence for a few moments, but he waved her off before she could open her mouth to help. Clearly having thought better than insisting, she turned around and left him to it. Sure enough – after maybe a little longer than was preferred – he had them both on.

“How do they feel?”

Fitz flexed his fingers, unsure whether the slightly nauseous feeling in his stomach was because of the gloves or was leftover from his recent adrenaline surge. “They fit well.”

Jemma raised an eyebrow. “That’s a rousing endorsement.”

He let out a low noise of annoyance, and cut his eyes over to her. “It’s too early to tell, Jemma, you know that.” 

“I know, I know,” she sighed, snapping shut the case from which she’d removed them. “Just remember to keep track of anything different, okay?” He nodded and watched her stride over to the kitchen, rambling all the way to fill the silence after their fight. “It might not be advisable to wear them all the time, but hopefully they’ll also speed up the recovery of your injuries, and I was thinking about making pizza for dinner, if you’ll make your sauce and you don’t mind pepperoni, for a lack of healthier ingredients.” 

Giving her a small salute, he peered into one of the food boxes from the base. “One pot of tomato sauce coming up.”

Between the two of them, Jemma was definitely the better and more adventurous cook, but Fitz wasn’t completely incapable in the kitchen. Desserts had always been his best area (his mum’s policy had typically been that if he could make it, he could eat it, and necessity bred invention), but there were a handful of other dishes in which Fitz took pride. And his margherita sauce was at the top of that list (never mind the fact that Jemma had always taken care of the rest of the dish).

As he rummaged around for the right kind of canned tomatoes, he tried to tell himself not to feel so nervous about simply eating dinner alone with her. After all, they’d spent years with only each other for company – in theory, being around each other was something at which they’d once both excelled. Fitz just had to hope that knowing about his unrequited feelings wouldn’t make Jemma uncomfortable, and that he’d be able to bury them as deeply as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADDENDUM: Bad news, folks. The end of the semester is kicking my ass, so I'm going to need to postpone publishing chapter 5. I _expect_ to have time to edit/post it on November 24th/25th (so a week later than intended), but I'll come back here with an update once my work has progressed (or not). It'll be posted on December 2nd at the latest.
> 
> I'm sorry I didn't realize/announce this sooner, but I hope that this chapter was left on a hopeful enough note that you don't mind waiting a little longer~ <3
> 
> While I'm here, this is another reminder that posting will be suspended at least a couple times in December/early January due to my holiday & travel schedule! But have no fear, there is plenty written, and posting will inevitably even out soon after.


	5. Is your skin yearning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief note that this entire chapter was written at least four months ago, and I didn't make any content edits to make it more like canon. Just sayin'. ;-)
> 
> This chapter's song is [Caught in the Storm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgKIbI6rt9w) by the Goo Goo Dolls.

Working in the cabin’s kitchen together eased the tension between them significantly, lessening it to the point it had been that morning as they designed the gloves. Even dinner didn’t feel too awkward, both of them being careful to avoid sensitive subjects and instead sticking to the safe ground that was their work (which now included Fitz’s condition, to a certain extent) and the dozens of interests they’d always had in common. Until the end of the meal, in any case, when he was busy eyeing the pizza crust that Jemma had been pushing around her plate. 

“I’m about to say something you won’t like.” 

Blinking, Fitz paused in the middle of his tentative plan to sneak the crust away while she wasn’t looking. “Thanks for the warning...?” 

She inhaled, pushing the plate towards him and watching as he grabbed and began to gnaw on the crust. “I think it would be wise for you to tell me what happens any time you lose control.” 

“Why?”

“Because as someone outside of your head, I might be able to notice patterns that you don’t.” Taking a moment to study his reaction, she sighed, and stood to clear their dishes. “I know it’s none of my business –”

“Jemma,” he started instinctively, milliseconds away from responding as he would have before everything had become so complicated between them, but he stopped himself in time.

“No, Fitz, it’s very personal, I’m sure, but I think it’s a necessity if we’re going to ever understand your abilities. Figuring out the patterns in your head could be key to controlling the outbursts.” After wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she took a few steps back towards the dining table but halted, hovering a few feet away from him. “I know that things have been... difficult between us. But I hope that you still trust me.” 

_To stay with me this time? No. No, I don’t trust that._

But he chose not to vocalize the thought, because with everything else the answer was as simple as it had ever been. “Course I trust you,” he sighed, pushing his chair away from the table and standing. “More’n anyone.”

A wave of tension released from her shoulders, and she folded her hands together in front of herself as she faced him more directly. “Thank you, Fitz. Now, what caused the outburst by the lake?” He exhaled and leaned against the back of the couch, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefingers. “I hadn’t felt any tremors before I came to find you, that’s –” 

“The pod,” he interjected quietly. “I dunno what made me think of it, but....”

“Oh, of _course_ ,” she breathed, approaching him. “The lake must have....” 

“Yeah.” He shrugged, watching out of the corner of his eye as she reached out to gently squeeze his arm above the glove's hem. After a moment, he placed one hand over hers, feeling rather like, maybe, they understood each other better now than they had for months. No one else in the world would ever be able to comprehend what had happened at the bottom of the ocean, and Fitz took great comfort in her wordless empathy. Their eyes met and his brows furrowed at the expression on her face. She was fighting with herself - he could see the indecision flicker behind her eyes - and he waited to see what she would say.  

Just as she opened her mouth, a series of loud dings came from the computer terminal in the corner of the room, and they turned in unison to stare at it. Fitz knew it was set up to connect them to SHIELD’s unclassified network, but he hadn’t expected the base to need them already. Jemma moved away first, and he couldn’t help but study the odd expression on her face as she let go of him, an openness that had been there only seconds before disappearing yet again.

Once she’d made a few quick taps on the keyboard, a video window popped up, revealing a very haggard-looking Skye. Judging by her wild hair, the slight smudge of blood on her cheekbone, and the tactical gear she was still wearing, she’d just returned from her mission – and hadn’t been happy to hear whatever Coulson had told her.

“Where’s Fitz?” She snapped this by way of greeting, leaning forward as if that would allow her to see behind Jemma.

“I’m here, Skye, hi,” he said, stepping up by Jemma’s shoulder, and their friend practically collapsed back in her chair, scrubbing a shaky hand over her forehead.

“Thank fuck,” she muttered, glancing up at what was probably her laptop screen, judging by the nondescript Playground wall behind her. “Coulson said... but I just wanted to... I mean, you know....”

“You didn’t believe him,” Jemma offered quietly, and Skye gave them a rueful nod.

“I dunno why, I mean, it’s not like he _lies_ to us, right? But I stopped by the Bus to say hi, and all your stuff was gone, and I.... It was like Ossetia all over again,” she directed at Jemma, who gave her an understanding nod. After a second, Skye shook her head, forcing out a smile and clasping her hands on the table. The digital display tilted in a slight glitch, but righted itself as she spoke. “Anyway, doesn't matter. So Coulson sent you two on a mountain vacay, huh? Is the weather out there nice?”

Raising an eyebrow at her subject change, Fitz shrugged, glancing out the now pitch-black windows. “Not bad....” He didn’t continue, distracted by the appearance of Trip in frame behind Skye’s chair. 

“Hey, how’s it going up there?”

Skye snapped her head around to stare incredulously up at him. “You _knew_?” 

Glancing between the video screen and her, Trip gave a small shrug. “Flew the plane.”

She reached abruptly out as if she was going to smack him and then thought better of it, pulling her arms in to cross them over her chest. “I – ugh, I really, _really_ hate secrets.”

“Hey,” Fitz said, taking a step forward, “I’m fine, okay? It’s actually kinda nice to be off base – less stressful. And I’ve got the world’s best doctor looking after me if I need it.” Skye’s eyeline moved over his shoulder and she suppressed a small grin at whatever she saw there. Turning his head, he caught the tail end of a warm, pleased smile on Jemma’s face, one he’d never seen before – and he knew all of Jemma’s smiles by heart. It was gone just as quickly, though, and he turned back to the computer. “Being out here’s good, I think. For a while, anyway. Not forever. I’d go bloody crazy living here.”

“Not enough machines to fiddle with,” Jemma deadpanned, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and we still have the second half of that Paranormal Activity flick to finish,” Skye added, scooting over as Trip pulled up a chair.

“Wait a minute,” Fitz said with a bemused smile, “you actually _want_ to watch Paranormal Activity? Don’t I usually have to bribe you?”

She frowned as if she’d just realized what she’d said. “Right. Well, I want to know what happens, and it’s not the same watching them without you, alright? Shut up,” she said, allowing her own lips to twitch up at the wide grin he gave the screen. “Just come back as soon as you’re better, okay? The base won’t be the same without you two.”

“Hell, the ride back wasn’t the same,” Trip said, giving his head a brief shake. “Coulson spent the whole thing talking about how he should’ve stocked more kale for y’all.”

A loud laugh burst out of Jemma, almost startling Fitz. Mirth lit up her face in a way that he hadn’t seen in... actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her truly laugh, and something hard clenched in his stomach at the thought.

Mutters came from the computer, and he turned back to see Skye and Trip nodding at someone off-screen. “Gotta go,” Skye said, seeing that Fitz was watching. “But I’ll check in at least once a day, okay?”

“You take care of him for us,” Trip added, giving Jemma a wink as he stretched gracefully out of his chair.

“Why can’t I take care of myself? Thanks very much,” he muttered, crossing his arms without actually being annoyed. 

Skye rolled her eyes and Jemma let out a small _tsk_. “Of _course_ I will,” she said, elbowing Fitz not-especially-gently in the side.

Once they’d signed off, Fitz ambled over to the kitchen and started the last of the dishes. Jemma trailed after him to lean on a nearby counter, and he felt her eyes on him as he worked. 

“I’m glad Skye’s been there for you,” she said at last, voice held carefully measured as she observed his reaction. “Since all this....” 

Flitting his eyes briefly over at her, he gazed studiously down at the soapy plate and sponge in his hands. The gloves, although water-resistant, did not make this chore easy, and he had to concentrate so as not to break anything.

“Yeah, she’s been a good friend.” There was an implication in that statement that he decided to leave, choosing not to see Jemma’s reaction and instead reaching for more soap. 

“I’m glad,” she whispered, and silence fell upon them beneath the rushing water.

“I never said thank you,” he added, squeezing the pearlescent soap onto the fuchsia sponge. “For coming out here with me. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. To, um, to help.”

“Yeah, well. Thanks anyway.” He made himself meet her eyes then, trying for an encouraging smile and hoping that it didn’t look as tremulous as it felt. “Means a lot.”

Jemma nodded in answer, ducking her head. “Well, what shall we do for the rest of the evening?”

“Honestly, I’m exhausted.” All of the dishes now set in the drying rack, he turned to face her more fully and leaned against the counter. “I feel like I should work on the monitor, but....”

“It’s been a long day – I think the monitor can wait,” she said kindly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “What do you think about a _Doctor Who_ episode or two and then bed? I’m not sure how much longer I’ll last, myself.”

He grinned. “Did you bring your DVDs, then?”

Rolling her eyes, she strode out of the kitchen and toward her personal bags. “Oh _please_ , Fitz, of course I did. Since I wasn’t sure where we would be going, I even brought a portable DVD-player, although we won’t need it as there’s one here.”

“Prepared as always,” he teased, ignoring the tingle of warmth that her smile sent through his chest. 

“Naturally,” she shot back, and proceeded to extract the DVD case.

It was another few minutes before they actually turned on the television, as both of them took the opportunity to change into their pajamas first. Having flopped onto the couch, Fitz watched Jemma flip through the DVD case’s somewhat tattered pages. A small smile worked onto his face at the sight, so very reminiscent of more nights back at the Academy than he could count. Both of them had all of the new series digitally by now, but she’d always been attached to her DVD collection, which had been (in her words) ludicrously difficult to obtain in the States at the time that the earlier seasons were airing.

To his surprise, once she’d settled on a disc she climbed onto the couch right next to him. Although her physical proximity was comforting for the first few minutes of the episode, it quickly became a problem. The kind of problem that he’d almost forgotten about in the months that he’d spent dutifully avoiding her as much as possible.

His eyes drifted over to where she leaned against him, legs tucked up on her other side and hands resting on her lap. Her eyes shone with the lights of the TARDIS set, a half-smile playing on her lips as she watched one of their favorite episodes for the hundredth time. All he wanted to do in that moment was kiss her, feel the heat of her breath on his skin, the way her hands would curl around his neck, and he dropped his gaze immediately. That was the exact kind of thought you’re _not_ supposed to have about someone who isn’t remotely interested in you in that way. Unfortunately, his flash of embarrassment only caused his eyes to drop to her breasts; she wasn’t wearing a bra and they pressed against the simple, cotton pajama tee, their fullness appealingly emphasized as she breathed. A rush of shame and guilt roared through his head at that and he snapped his head around to look towards the television set, although he wasn’t actually watching anymore. 

 _God_ , Fitz hated himself then; he felt like one of those letches who used to stare at Jemma in the Boiler Room, and from whom he’d defended her on more than one occasion. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself that he was in love with her, not just ogling her body for her body’s sake, every time he had these thoughts he felt deeply ashamed and embarrassed by it. So much time had passed since this had last been a problem that he’d almost forgotten how potent the feeling was – both his desire for his best friend, and the inevitable self-loathing that came after.

It had been the worst right after she’d returned from Hydra, when she’d had this new sort of light surrounding her. He wasn’t sure if it was just because he hadn’t seen her in so long, or if she’d truly gained a new sort of confidence while she was apart from him. Both thoughts made him equally sad, and this was just exacerbated by the fact that his traitorous brain kept throwing him tantalizingly attractive images of her. Not that she wasn’t attractive in reality, because she was, but in these mental snippets she was usually partially naked or moaning his name, or, _God_ , doing any one of a hundred different inappropriate things for him to think about the best friend who had no romantic or sexual interest in him. On top of the constant reminder that she didn’t feel the same, he’d had to deal with guilt over _wanting_ her so terribly, and ultimately that was one of the myriad reasons why he’d begun to actively push her away.

Now, just when they were reaching a better balance and even working their way towards a new kind of friendship, his brain was falling in love with her all over again, and it was simply unacceptable. He missed the days when he couldn’t care less what she looked like and barely noticed that she even had boobs at all; everything had been far simpler then. The room gave a subtle tremble around them, and Jemma started, twisting to stare at him.

“I’m, ah...” he started, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I’m knackered, Jemma, I think I should call it a night.” The shaking faded out, much to his relief, although he caught the distinct disappointment on her face as he stood up.

“Oh, of course,” she said, shifting onto her knees on the couch to watch him stride into his bedroom. “Goodnight, Fitz.” 

Unable to meet her eyes, he nodded through the door as he closed it. “Yeah, night.”

Once it was shut, he leaned back against it and suppressed the urge to punch something. All he wanted to be able to do was to treat her just like his best friend, as he’d done so effortlessly for almost a decade, but his feelings kept getting in the way, and being alone with her in this cabin was bound to make it worse. If they were ever going to get back on truly even footing, he had to find a way to repress his feelings so fully that they didn’t even occur to him – and Fitz had no idea how to do that. It felt like they were always taking two steps forward and then one step back, and although the sum of that equaled progress, it seemed to be taking a very long time indeed.

 

\------

 

Over the next few days, the two of them fell into a comfortable routine. In the morning, they’d do regular SHIELD work – as much as they could do outside of the actual lab, anyway – and check in with Skye. After lunch, they both went out to the lake so that Fitz could experiment with his powers. It had taken another argument over breakfast that first morning, but eventually Jemma had convinced him that the source of the problem the day before had been that neither one knew where the other person was. By having her sit a decided distance away from him – with a bicycle helmet on, per his insistence – to make her observations and ask questions while he worked, that ensured that they were both as prepared as possible for any sudden events. This worked surprisingly well, and Jemma became his coach of sorts, providing him with tips that she’d learned from May for clearing his mind and focusing his energy.

After spending the afternoon by the lake he was always exhausted, so he napped for an hour or two until dinner. The evenings quickly became his favorite part of the day, because, despite the slight awkwardness of the first night, that was when things started to feel almost normal between them again. They’d watch a show or a movie, or debate a journal article, or just... talk. Like they’d done so effortlessly for so many years before. Fitz felt himself growing addicted to the little ways she looked at him here at the cabin, almost the same way that she used to but with an added sense of peacefulness that she’d been missing back at the base.

Unfortunately, the only thing that threatened to ruin this new oasis of friendship was the continuous reminders of all the ways he was attracted to her. He’d almost gotten used to denying the romantic love he felt, but the sexual aspects became increasingly difficult to ignore – and with those thoughts came more unpredictable earthquakes. When they’d been at the base his attraction to her hadn’t been as much of a problem, but in the cabin they shared a bathroom. In the mornings, she usually padded out to put on the kettle only wearing her bathrobe, in addition to all the other things he noticed simply from being around her virtually twenty-four hours a day. On top of all that, he dreaded the day that he’d eventually have to tell her why those quakes were happening, thanks to his naïve promise to tell her everything that was in his head when he lost control. So far, they’d either been brief enough that he could demur or there had been additional circumstances that he could put forth first. 

(Such as their second day there, when she’d lamented not having brought a swimsuit so she could take advantage of the clear lake water. As he tried to suppress the image of her in a bikini – something that, _Christ_ , never used to appeal to him – a large quake had sent them both tumbling to the ground, and Jemma had landed less than a foot from the water’s edge. Once the tremors had eventually calmed, all he’d needed to do was point shakily at the lake and mutter “water” to get her to stop pressing him about the cause.) 

Of course, Fitz knew he wouldn’t be so lucky every time, and one of these days they were going to have a conversation that could upset the balance of their new friendship entirely.

After one afternoon’s seemingly-endless session out by the lake, Fitz was feeling particularly unsettled. Part of testing the gloves as well as his powers meant that periodically he tried wearing the gloves while he practiced, to see how well they inhibited the shaking, and since he’d forgotten to do this the day before it was the last thing he’d done today. Using the gloves for too long made him nauseous – a side-effect that Jemma was trying to ameliorate, although she hadn’t managed it yet – and he’d taken to only wearing them when he slept or for an hour at a time. While trying to push himself at the lake, he’d worn the gloves for too long, in addition to not feeling like he made any progress in controlling his powers. 

Once back inside the cabin, he struggled to take the gloves off, his exhaustion and frustration meaning that his left hand was shaking in a way that had nothing to do with his abilities. Seeing this, Jemma strode over and reached for his arm.

“Here, let me –” 

“I don’t need your help,” he snapped, and then immediately regretted it, shoulders slumping where he stood. “I’m – Christ, I’m sorry. Again. As always.” 

Instead of answering, she just held her hand out and he allowed her to undo the fastenings of the problem glove. “Asking for help is not a sign of weakness,” she said quietly, tugging the fabric off his arm. “It’s just human.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not even that anymore, am I?” He didn’t look up to see the expression he was sure she now wore in response, a mix of fondness, exasperation, and pity.

“At least your injuries are healing well,” she offered, taking the second glove as he handed it to her. “Should be all fixed soon.”

“That’s one thing, at least.” Keeping his gaze averted, ears still stinging from the shame of having lashed out so unnecessarily, he started shuffling towards his room. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you in an hour or two.”

Just before he reached his door, she called out to him. “Oh! Fitz, will the shower going wake you up?” He glanced up at her, and she gave him a slight grimace. “The humidity was awful today.”

“Nah, it won’t,” he muttered, turning quickly back to his door. “Go for it.”

The second he was in his pajamas, he collapsed onto the double bed and pounded his pillow a couple times for good measure. There was another reason why he’d been feeling tightly-wound all day, and it had nothing to do with his powers. 

This morning he’d woken up from a seriously hot sex dream about Jemma. Actually, it couldn’t even technically be called that – they hadn’t been having sex. All he remembered was that they were naked, and there was a lot of delicious friction and moaning with him never actually being inside her. He’d woken before he could get any sort of release and had been feeling tense all day as a result, the sound of dream!Jemma’s moans echoing in his head on repeat. Covering his head with a pillow, he refused to give in to what his brain was screaming at him was the perfect solution – well, maybe not his _brain_ , per se.

Although he’d been harboring feelings for his best friend for over a year, he’d never gotten off while thinking about her. It seemed wrong, somehow, as if, on top of the fact that she obviously didn’t return his feelings, he was violating some sacred platonic part of their relationship. The closest he’d ever gotten was in their last weeks on the Bus, when he’d made up some girl named Jenna (her physical resemblance to Jemma was a coincidence, he’d told himself afterwards, flimsy an excuse though that may be). It had been a long time since he’d been tempted, but being around her all the time was wearing through his self-control. 

Remembering the dream for even a few seconds only resulted in his cock getting semi-hard, and he groaned, wondering if he could get to sleep if he shot himself with an ICER again. He was a grown man in his late twenties, he shouldn’t be so hopelessly incapable of shutting down unwanted trains of thought. _But it’s not unwanted_ , a vicious little voice whispered in the back of his head, and he flipped over onto his side to attempt to derail any further moments of weakness. Curling up around an extra pillow, Fitz managed to force himself into sleep, although it didn’t last for very long.

The creak of his door to the joint bathroom woke him up, and he peered blearily up over his blanket-covered arm. Jemma was squinting into the dark room, and her face lit up once she met his gaze.

“Oh good, you’re awake!” He let out a small snort, but she came bustling in anyway. “I had a marvelous idea for your gloves while I was in the shower!” And she was off and running, practically hopping over to sit next to him on the side of the bed. 

Much to his dismay, Fitz couldn’t keep his mind on what she was saying at all from the second that his sluggish brain realized she really had _just_ come out of the shower, and that she was only wearing her robe. Her white, cotton robe, which was really far thinner than it had any right to be. The second that he tried to force his brain away from those thoughts, the buzzing in his chest gave a strong pulse and the room around them shook.

Jemma gasped, staring down at him with wide eyes and hands steadying herself on the mattress. “Fitz, what happened?”

“N-nothing,” he gritted out, trying to count his breaths and calm the roiling within himself – but to no avail. The more he pushed down his acute awareness of Jemma’s nudity under the robe, the farther out the tremors went. He could hear glasses clinking all the way in the kitchen.

“What were you thinking about? Was it the gloves?” 

“No, not.”

“Then what?”

Fitz let out a noise of acute frustration, squeezing his eyes shut and curling in on himself as tightly as possible. “It... it’s not – I’ll stop it, I promise....”

“Fitz!” He snapped his gaze up to her, reading the concern written across her face. “Please, what’s going on?”

“Oh, God, Jemma, _please_ don’t make me tell you.” He could practically hear her frown above him, and he buried his head deeper under the pillow. It didn’t help that through the sheet, thin blanket, and her robe, he could feel her arse just barely pressed against his shin. Another tremor shook the house as he told himself that he’s not supposed to want to know what it would feel like under his hands.

“Oh,” she whispered, shifting slightly on the bed. “Fitz, were you having a sex dream?”

He snort-laughed into the mattress. “Can I just say yes and be done with this conversation?”

“You promised you’d tell me exactly what happened whenever the shaking started,” she reminded him, reaching over to squeeze his knee where it was bent by her hip. “Including what’s in your head.”

Her fingers flexed around his knee again and his breath hitched. _Fuck_ , it had been way too long since he’d taken matters into his own hands, because every tiny movement she made was just making it worse. The house shook again, and Jemma removed her hand long enough for him to take a deep breath. “You in your robe,” he mumbled, the sound almost completely muffled by the pillow. “I was telling myself not to look.”

She stilled beside him and released another “Oh.” But the tone was different this time, her voice a little breathy, and, lord, all Fitz wanted in that moment was to just shrivel up and disappear. Why couldn’t he ever control what he was feeling? All his feelings ever did was cause him trouble. 

“What if you were allowed to look?”  

Certain the pillow had distorted her words, Fitz extracted himself from his mostly ineffectual fort and twisted to stare up at Jemma. “ _What_?”

She wouldn't meet his gaze, eyes flickering towards his face for milliseconds at a time as she picked at the robe’s sleeve. “I’ve noticed a pattern in when you lose control. It’s not just when you’re nervous or worried – that, too, to some degree, but it’s when you’re trying to get yourself to stop doing something. As if maybe the... um, repression is what triggers the quakes.” His brows furrowed as he thought back over the past week or so, nodding slowly as her words seemed to actually have brought out a pattern that hadn’t occurred to him. “So perhaps if you allowed yourself to feel... the, um, desire, when you looked at me in the robe....” 

“No, no, I can’t do that,” Fitz interrupted, shaking his head and scrambling to sit up on the bed.

“Why not?” Jemma scooted a few inches towards him, and he pulled his legs up and hugged them to his chest. 

“Because!” His voice was all high and awkward, but the way she was looking at him made him nervous – or heated all over. He reminded himself that if she’d felt anything for him, she doubtlessly would have told him months ago. The bed started shaking, and he pressed his palms hard against his eyes.

“Because what?” She was close enough now that he could feel the mattress dip under her weight. The buzzing in his chest was becoming impossible to ignore, and the ceiling light began to sway.

“Because you don’t want me to! You don’t want me in that way, and I’ve accepted that, it’s taken me _months_ but I have, and I can’t let myself go back. I can’t, Jemma, it hurts too much.” His words came out all jumbled and barely audible, and his breath caught on the edge of a sob. The tremors started rolling out from his chest into his arms, but, to Fitz’s shock, she reached out and grabbed his hands with her own, pulling them away from his face.

“Fitz, look at me,” she ordered, her tone so sharp that he did as she said without thinking about it. “I’ve never actually _said_ I don’t want you in that way, have I?”

“You’ve shown it clearly enough,” he shot back, voice laden with more vitriol and pain than he’d intended, and she flinched.

Jemma studied his face for a few long moments, chewing her bottom lip in thought. “No, I haven’t. But maybe that’s the problem.”

Fitz cringed as she pushed his legs aside, terrified that she’d notice the tent in his pajamas, but before he could really worry she’d placed her hands on either side of his face and pressed her lips to his. A strangled gasp escaped his throat, his eyes widened, and she tilted her head to the side, gently slanting his mouth open to run her tongue along his bottom lip. The rest of his body froze. His mouth responded before he could stop himself, lips and tongue sliding over hers instinctively, heatedly, wanting so much more. One of her hands made its way around his waist, pulling herself closer, and his breath caught as her breasts pressed flush against his chest. His cotton undershirt was thin enough that through it and the robe he could feel her nipples, already peaked even with him barely touching her, and his cock twitched in his trousers.

What would she do, he wondered, dimly, in the back of his head where he wasn’t focused on the way she moaned into his mouth when he nipped at her lip, if he were to slide his hands under her robe? If he undid the knot and let it fall open, all that perfect, smooth skin ready for his touch, his lips? What would she sound like with his mouth working between her thighs? Would she beg for more, for him?

 _No_ , came the fervent thought, _God, no, this is too fast, too much_ – and he yanked himself away from her, scrambling further back along the bed to crash into the headboard. The ground trembled briefly, and Fitz realized that the shaking had stopped while they kissed. An incredulous smile flashed across his face, because of _course_ she’d been right – once he’d stopped consciously denying himself, his powers had evened out. But his instinctive admiration of her fled his mind as he met her gaze, and if it had been physically possible he would’ve thought that he got even harder. His rapid retreat had pulled the robe to the side so that a generous swell of her breast was visible, the skin flushed all the way up to her neck. Her expression had him breathing shallowly, a wild sort of daze, her wide, pink lips swollen and curved open, her eyes dark and pupils dilated, and, beyond that, the outlines of her nipples were visible through the robe’s thin cotton.

Just as he was going to break the silence, with a question or an accusation or a demand, Jemma spoke, voice low and thick in a way he’d never heard before. “I’ve been having dreams.”

He blinked at her, almost confused about the topic change. “What?”

“Since I got back from Hydra. Or, well, I had dreams when I was away, too, but those were different.” Something about speaking seemed to bring her more firmly back to earth, and she angled herself so she could look at him more solidly, pulling the robe closed. (He didn’t know whether he was relieved or disappointed that she had.) When he didn’t answer again, she dipped her head, tucking a mussed curl behind her ear. “Dreams about us. Did I say that? That’s what I meant.”

Fitz’s brain shorted for a few seconds, and he swallowed. “About... sex? D’you mean sex dreams?” She nodded, hugging the robe to herself. “With – me?” 

Jemma smiled, nodding again. “It’s been very awkward, honestly – I never know if I’ve made any noise, and I’ve been terrified someone would confront me about it for ages. All your fault, really.”

Her teasing accusation pulled him back from the unproductive train of thought about what she could have been dreaming about that would make her worry she was being too _loud_. “ _My_ fault? How is that my fault?”

She frowned, doing an adorable sort of double take. “What you – what you said to me in the pod, of course. Right before you....” With a sharp inhale, she gave her head a quick shake. “You planted the idea. Of more.” 

No matter how he tried, though, rubbing his fingers hard over his temples, he just couldn’t see what she meant. “I’m sorry, Jemma, I just – I don’t see what _that_ has to do with sex dreams.” 

“I’d never really thought of us... in that way before,” she said, voice bashful and shoulders curving forward. “We were so young when we met, and so busy, and the only dates I ever went on were boring as sin. And you never bored me, ever, so I just – it didn’t occur to me. That you would ever have thought of more. So when I came back, and you were so different, and quiet, with your –” She waved her hand vaguely at her chin, and he reached up to his own.

“What, the stubble? Because I couldn’t, um, bloody shave without cutting myself?”

A light flush bloomed on her cheeks. “I’m... yes. The hair. I don’t know what it was, honestly, Fitz, but that’s when the dreams started. It’s been months, and it’s been driving me up the wall,” she laughed, hands coming up to hold her neck. “Because I’ve never really _done_ this before, wanted to actually be with someone, and then we were fighting all the time, or weren’t talking, so –”

“Wanted to be with someone,” he repeated, his brain apparently only working at half-capacity, either because of her kisses or her words.

“You.” She swallowed, gnawing at her lip as she glanced at him. “I think I want to be with you, Fitz.” 

He stared at her, dumbfounded, for a few long moments. _Months_ , she’d said – this wasn’t something that had just popped into her head this morning, and yet she’d chosen _now_ to tell him. And he had no idea how he was supposed feel. Rather than parse through the swirl of complicated emotions running through his head, instead he focused in on a very familiar one: Anger. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Unable to sit still anymore, he slid out of the bed and began pacing the side of the room, just out of her reach where she sat. “You’ve been back for months, _months_ , Jemma –”

Watching him with wary eyes, she sighed. “Would you believe me if I said it was just very confusing? I mean, think about it, suddenly you’re waking up on a regular basis from these very vivid, very graphic dreams about someone who’s been your best friend for a decade –”

“Yeah, sounds familiar –” 

“– But you’re barely speaking to each other, and sometimes you think he hates you again, and it would seem completely off-color to bring up something so asinine when he’s got far more important things to think about –”

“Honestly, I dunno what I could be thinking about that’d be more important than you dreaming about having sex with me –”

“– Than you possibly, maybe, almost definitely developing not-just-friend feelings for him thanks to those dirty dreams. And... and other things.”

A large part of him wanted to just sit straight down on the floor out of shock, but at least he was able to get his brain back on track before he made a complete fool of himself. His ears started ringing, and he hoped briefly that this was just his surprise and not a new symptom.

“I – I have no idea what to say to that, Jemma.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Her cheeks were pink, and he recognized a distinct hesitance in her expression. “I know it’s... it’s not the best time. Just – if you feel anything about me, over the next few days, you can... consider not hiding it, okay? I’m....” Jemma trailed off, staring at his mouth, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips before she continued. “I’m interested. So you don’t need to feel guilty about looking. Or... anything.” Pulling the tie of her robe a little more tightly, she made to leave the room, giving him a brief, almost-coy smile before letting the door close.

Fitz slouched backwards, allowing himself to slide down the wall as he tried to process what had just happened. After months of bickering and estrangement and not knowing if they were ever going to be able to mend their relationship, and then having _finally_ reached some sort of friendly middle ground, Jemma had just told him that she was interested in being... more than friends. His immediate reaction was to wonder what the fuck he was still doing here alone in his room, when she was naked under that robe and, _Christ_ , apparently very willing for him to get his hands on her. 

The fantasy distracted him for a minute – the thought of grabbing her and kissing her hard, her wrapping her legs around his waist, the robe falling open – before he was able to convince himself that that would be a very bad idea. Well, maybe not a _very_ bad one, but definitely not a good idea. This was uncharted territory for them both, to say the least, and they’d been getting along so well at the cabin that the idea of accidentally ruining that balance made him feel physically ill. They weren’t ready to truly cross that line, at least not tonight when their argument and ensuing confessions were still fresh, and he groaned as the image of her parting the robe popped into his head again.

The ground beneath him began to shiver, vibrations rolling out from his chest into his hands, and he wondered how much snogging he and Jemma would theoretically have to do to get that to stop. He took a few deep breaths, trying to get those images and his persistent erection to go away, but the room just continued to shake. Pounding a fist into the wall, he swore.

Wait – she’d said that thinking was the problem, that internal repression. Maybe if he allowed himself to take matters into his own hands then the tremors would cease... and she’d very specifically told him not to feel guilty. The more he thought about it, the more this seemed like the best solution, so he padded into their adjoining bathroom and turned on the shower to let it warm up. Making sure that her side was locked, he secured his own door and then stripped out of his pajamas, stumbling a little as the earth continued to move beneath him. 

Once steam floated over the top of the plastic door, he stepped inside and let out a long sigh at the warm water, noting how the quaking eased as his muscles relaxed. Leaning forward on one arm, Fitz once again tried to control his breathing, this time allowing the buzzing inside himself to just exist without pressuring it to cease. After a minute or so, he let his mind drift back to Jemma in the robe, the way she’d looked when he’d broken off their kiss. Her hair was rumpled, her lips – God, those lips, even softer than he would have imagined. She’d tasted like tap water and decaffeinated tea, her tongue had been confident and certain as it had slid over and under his, and he wondered where else she’d be good at using it. A small moan escaped as he reached down to stroke himself, hard again to the point of aching, imagining the expression she might have made if he’d pulled open the robe like he’d wanted, leaving her bare to his gaze. It would be the smile she thought he didn’t notice when he’d done something snarky, her smug sort of grin when she was impressed by his wit. 

But in his fantasy, she’s impressed by his boldness, spurring her to pull off his boxers and see him naked for the first time, hands caressing his exposed flesh. She’d push him backwards onto the bed, sink down onto his cock, and moan as he bottomed out inside her. Even though Fitz had never had sex, he had a vivid imagination, and his own strokes sped up as he thought about how tight and hot she’d be around him, knowing that no matter what she would feel so much better than his own hand did right now. The moonlight would glide over her skin as she rode him, her breath catching as he pumped in and out of her, her eyes flashing as they stared at each other. Her voice would be all throaty, that prim English accent roughened in lust as she writhed above him, sweat shining on her skin and fingers clinging to him as she cried out his name.

His hips started thrusting forward into his hand, his mouth bowing in anticipation of that release as he imagined the way her breasts would bounce so tantalizingly above him and she would moan out her own pleasure, nipples peaked and skin flushed. He’d hold onto her hips, delving deeper inside, and she’d beg for him to finish her, to make her come, hands reaching up to tease at her own breasts as she was rocked by his every stroke, and that – that is when Fitz fell messily into his own orgasm, groaning out her name as his hand frantically worked his cock until he was completely spent. Reaching up to use both arms for support, he allowed his forehead to rest against the tiled wall, breathing hard in the aftermath of a damn good fantasy.

As he turned up the water’s heat again - compensating for how much water he’d already used - and grabbed his shampoo, he wondered what her dreams were like. If she fantasized about him in at all the same way. Then he realized that the ground was completely still, and the buzzing inside of himself was practically negligible – it had worked. It might not last for very long, but there was something to be said for Jemma’s theory about repression after all. Of course, that wasn’t always the case – they’d shown that his powers were magnified and vastly uncontrollable when he was scared, in particular. But knowing this made him feel like he had at least some modicum of control over them, ludicrous though it might be. Best of all, this afternoon might lead to him and Jemma exploring some kind of romantic relationship, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t ecstatic (if simultaneously terrified).

When he strode out of his room twenty minutes later feeling thoroughly refreshed and energized, he was somewhat distraught to see Jemma sitting curled in a ball on the couch, body posture reeking of anxiety. His first instinct was to panic – she’d changed her mind, she wasn’t comfortable with pursuing any kind of relationship, she hadn’t thought that kiss as mind-blowing as he had – but he took a couple deep breaths and ignored his inner worrier. She’d been so sure in his bedroom that the odds were something else had dampened her mood.

“Hey, Jemma? You alright?”

Tilting her head in his direction, she gave him a small smile. “Of course – why?”

“You, uh....” He waved his hand vaguely at where she was sitting. “You look... tense.”

A slight flush bloomed on her cheeks and she dropped her eyes. “Oh. Well... I suppose I should probably say that the bathroom isn’t particularly soundproof –” 

“Oh, fuck,” Fitz whispered, feeling himself pale. 

“And after our... talk, earlier, I wasn’t sure why... unless you don’t want –”

“No!” He shouted it a little too loudly, reaching out with clumsy hands to stop her words as he realized that the look on her face was a distinct sort of hurt. “I still want that! God, I want to try – all those things – with you. But I thought....”

His voice gave out, horror temporarily forcing his brain to spin uselessly while he tried to find the words. After swallowing heavily, he exhaled, trying to force himself not to skitter back from her in fear. Frankly, their friendship had been so strained for so long, now, that he wasn’t totally sure what he had to lose anymore. The worst thing he could probably do right now would be to retreat without an explanation, and so he forced himself to meet her eyes. 

“I dunno, it seemed, um, kinda soon, y’know? Because I don’t want to mess it up.” Kneeling down in front of where she was curled on the sofa, he tugged one of her hands into his, watching the way her slim fingers fit so snugly between his larger ones. “I was so bloody terrified of messing us up and I’ve done it already.”

“I don’t think you’ve done any permanent damage,” she said quietly, giving him a brief quirk of her lips when he caught her gaze. “But I _am_ a little confused....” 

Fitz sighed and leaned back on his heels, keeping their hands entwined. “I was so... after our... I was really turned on,” he squeezed out, unable to look at her directly when he said it. “I needed to do _something_ , because I kept quaking and I didn’t know how to stop it. And you said not to feel guilty, so....”

She burst into giggles then, dropping his hand to cover her mouth. “So you thought I was telling you to have a wank – about _me_?!”

“How’d you know I was thinking about you?!” His voice went all high and suddenly he wished there was an open pit nearby into which he could throw himself.

Jemma raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “First of all, I think you just confirmed it. Secondly, remember what I said about the walls not being soundproof? You said my name – a couple times – rather loudly.”

“Could’ve been someone named Jenna,” he mumbled, sure his face was bright red. He shook his head, trying to remember where he’d been in his apology when she’d interrupted him. “I just thought it would be better to see if giving in to my... my, um, desires worked, to stop my powers, and I didn’t want to come out here and beg you to shag me.” His voice was wry, but her expression melted into something bordering on intrigued, and he had the sudden, distinct impression that she wouldn’t have said no. “‘Cause even if we... if maybe we’re both interested, I think it’s too soon, y’know?”

“Pity,” she murmured, voice lowering the same way it had in the bedroom, and he let out a choked off groan.

“That’s not helping.”

“Sorry.” She didn’t look sorry at all, though, tongue darting out to wet her lips in a way that was absolutely, completely, and unfairly deliberate.

Inhaling, Fitz forced himself to focus. “If we’re gonna do this, I want it to work, you and I. And I thought we needed some time to, I dunno, process.”

The look on Jemma’s face faded from sultry to achingly fond in a matter of seconds, and she reached out for his hand again. “Of course. I completely agree. I want –” She paused, tangling their fingers together. “I want us to work, too.” 

A smile spread across his face as he scooted a little closer to the sofa. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, leaning down to brush her lips against his. Their hands stayed entwined as he stretched up, pressing their lips more firmly together, and Fitz felt so happy he could burst. He was kissing Jemma Simmons, the woman he’d loved longer than he’d ever really known, and she wanted him back. If his powers could make something so fantastic happen, maybe they weren’t a curse after all.


	6. Are the times changing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [Untouched](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOqGeiRdPPI) by the Veronicas. B)

The rest of the evening was quiet, with Jemma taking her post-training data before dinner and both of them settling down to read their respective scientific journals after. Like most of the past few evenings they’d both sat on the sofa, but tonight Fitz braved the center cushion, taking the bright smile she gave him as a good sign. Their hands lay peacefully next to each other for some time, until eventually Jemma slid her pinky finger over to curl around his, and (if he wasn’t a scientist through and through) Fitz would’ve sworn that his heart actually grew a whole size. Something about the intimacy of just entangling those two fingers made him extraordinarily happy, far above even the privilege of having gotten to kiss her for the first time only a couple hours prior.

Not long into the evening, Jemma decided to turn in early, leaving Fitz to read on his own in the common area. After some time had passed, though, he realized that he wasn’t sure where she’d put his training gloves when they’d come back from the lake. He hovered outside the door to her room for a few seconds, indecisive about potentially waking her up, but then he heard a few creaks of the mattress and what sounded like muffled words. That suggested to him that she was still awake, so he gave the door a quick rap as he pushed it open.

“Hey, Jemma, where’d you put my gloves...?”

The bedside lamp was on, giving him the briefest glimpse of Jemma lying on her back on the bed, legs bent and arms below the sheet that half-covered her. Before he could register what he was seeing, however, she let out a small scream, shooting up in bed and pulling the sheets up around her camisole-clad torso.

“Fitz! What the bloody hell –?!”

Taking in her flushed face, mussed hair, and heavy breathing, Fitz had the abrupt realization that he’d interrupted her while she was _getting herself off_ and, oh God, he just about wanted the floor to swallow him where he stood.

“Shit, sorry, _shit_ ,” he said very eloquently, slamming the door closed and then standing there in shock.

He was completely torn between being horrified with himself for creating such an embarrassing situation, and... being more than a little turned on at the idea of Jemma working herself up with her own hands. The image of what she might look like with her face twisted in pleasure popped into his head, and he scrubbed furiously at his eyes, as if that would get rid of it. Footsteps padded towards him from behind the door and he shot across the room, desperate to avoid appearing like he’d just been standing there like an idiot. Once the door opened, however, he turned back to Jemma, who was in the middle of pulling on her robe over her pajamas. 

“Fuck, Jemma, I’m so sorry, I dunno what I was thinking,” he pleaded, hands held beseechingly towards her.

“Forgotten our roommate etiquette, hm?” She was trying to make light of the situation, but the way she held her arms tightly around her torso told him exactly how uncomfortable she was.

“I feel like a total ass –”

“Which you are –”

“It just _never_ would’ve occurred to me that you’d be doing, y’know, that –”

“What,” she exclaimed, indignation further coloring her cheeks, “you can get off in the shower and I’m not allowed to do the same in the privacy of my bedroom?” 

“That’s not what I meant –”

“And it’s your bloody fault anyway, saying my name like that, with your voice... all....” Her eyes widened and she trailed off, breath hitching as if she’d said too much. But all Fitz could think about now was what the rest of her sentence was going to be. Did she mean – his voice turned her on? 

“That’s what you were thinking about? Just now?” He didn’t even realize that his voice had lowered an octave until he saw the way her mouth parted in response. They both stared at each other, the air suddenly seeming thick and every cricket chirp outside vastly magnified in the silence.

“None of your business,” Jemma said, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

“Right,” he breathed, curling his hands into fists at his side to keep himself from reaching for her. It would be so easy right now, he knew, to just stride over to her and let hormones take over, to let them just vent all that frustration and history and completely exhaust themselves in each other. But the part of himself that had been in love with Jemma far longer than he’d been attracted to her was still in control, and he gave himself a small shake.

“I’m, ah, gonna go to bed. Sorry, again, honestly, it’ll never happen again.” And with that, he escaped into his bedroom and leaned against the closed door. Although he’d occasionally daydreamed before the pod about what it might have been like for Jemma to reciprocate his feelings, he could never have anticipated that it would be followed by something as mind-bendingly awkward as this. Just his luck. He swore under his breath, and gave his head one solid thunk against the wood. Two small taps answered him on the other side of the door, and he cringed. “Yeah?” 

“Ah, Fitz, did you – were you looking for your gloves?” Allowing himself one long inhale, Fitz opened the door to Jemma, who held out the two offending articles in front of her. “They were under your Scientific American.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, taking the gloves.

“Yeah,” she said, giving him a brief grin. She turned to go, paused, then tilted her head back towards him. “And that _was_ what I was thinking about.” His mouth dropped open as he watched her stride quickly back to her room and close the door behind her.

Fitz stared dumbly down at the damned gloves in his hands and knew, without a doubt, that he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep tonight.

 

\------

 

After a mostly restless night – that was, miraculously, largely quakeless – Fitz didn’t force himself out of bed until he heard Jemma puttering around the kitchen. Once he’d finished his morning ablutions (and maybe spent a little more time on his hair than he had prior to yesterday’s revelations), he stood behind the door to his room for a full minute, rocking back on his heels and trying to figure out what the hell he was going to say to her. A few deep breaths and mental castigations later, he pulled the door open and peeked around it.

His heart lurched as he realized that Jemma was in the middle of mixing what was probably pancake batter. It was her ultimate version of comfort food, and meant that she felt just as awkward about the whole thing as he did. She turned and gave him a small smile as he stepped over creaky floorboards, and he exhaled, twisting one thumb into the palm of the other. 

“I’m, um, really sorry –” he started, cringing again at his own thoughtlessness.

“Oh, Fitz!” Jemma interrupted him, throwing her unoccupied hand out to the side in a gesture of exasperation. “Honestly, you don’t need to apologize any more, I know you didn’t do it on purpose. Last night I was just... frustrated. I’ll recover.”

He frowned, pushing down his inappropriate interest in what she’d been doing to alleviate her frustration. “Do you want me to... I dunno, go for a walk, or something? Give you privacy...?”

Letting out a wry laugh, she shook her head and went back to stirring. “Uh, no, thank you. Knowing that you’re just – it won’t work. I’ll just – it’ll be fine.” When she looked up at him, though, her expression faded to something akin to fondness, and she smiled. “You don’t have to look so worried, Fitz. Figuring out what we are now is just going to take a little time, that’s all.”

The weight on his shoulders finally dissipated at the reminder that their relationship was actually, miraculously changing in the way that he’d wanted for so long, and he couldn’t help the bashful grin he gave her in return. “Yeah, I know.” Pausing again, he watched her work for a few moments and then took a couple small steps towards the kitchen area. “I, um... can I kiss you? Good morning?” He wondered if he might have looked too hopeful when he asked that, but the blushing happiness reflected on her own face made his insecurities fade away. 

“Yes, you may,” she replied, wiping her hands on her apron as he approached. 

Once they were toe-to-toe, Fitz paused, taking in a slow breath and cautiously reaching up to caress her cheek as he curled his other hand around her shoulder. This was the first time he’d get to initiate a kiss with Jemma and, even though his heart was racing, he wanted to be able to remember everything about it. She stared up at him, curls freshly set after her shower and honey-colored eyes shining in the morning sunlight, and her breathing quickened as she leaned slightly forward. Fitz inhaled one last time and pressed their lips together, working his mouth gently over hers, trying to lose himself in the way she felt against him rather than worrying about what she might think. Her hands twisted into his shirt and her breath hitched when he darted his tongue out to brush against her lips without seeking more. A happy sigh escaped her as she leaned further against him, and he felt almost like he was floating - like when she kissed him, he was invincible. Eventually he broke away, inhaling deeply as he rested his forehead against hers and thought that he’d never experienced anything quite that perfect in his whole life.

When he finally convinced himself to open his eyes, Jemma was smiling at him, bringing one hand up to rest just beneath his collarbone. “And you don’t have to ask for permission,” she murmured. “You can just... you can do that now.”

He might not be especially experienced in the relationship department but Fitz was no fool, and so he leaned down again for more deep kisses, noting the exact moment that Jemma seemed to melt completely against him. (For future reference, it was when he tugged her lower lip in between his two and sucked gently.) As she held tightly onto his arms for balance, his libido flared to life, reminding him of the images that he’d conjured up in the shower yesterday. Not wanting to need to repress the thoughts and cause more quakes, he pulled back again with a low sigh, nuzzling briefly against her nose. In truth, he was too happy right now to be upset by having to reign in his baser instincts.

Jemma exhaled, stepping back and patting her hair as she returned to the pancake batter. “So, did you want blueberries or chocolate chips?”

Reaching around to grab the tea tin, Fitz scoffed. “What do you think?”

As Jemma stretched up for the cabinet door, she shook her head into a brief laugh. “Right – chocolate chips it is.”

They spent the rest of the day much as they had the few before, with Fitz experimenting with his powers out by the lake followed by Jemma giving him a thorough testing, and then by downtime. Today, though, in between each of these other familiar activities, he would lean over and steal kisses, or sweep his hand along her back just to feel her press into him. The smile she gave him whenever he did either made him feel like he could do anything, and he wondered if all the pain he’d endured over the past year had been meant to lead him here, to truly be with Jemma and know that she wanted to be with him, too.

But he couldn’t help but notice the ways that she seemed to be holding herself back, especially when he compared her responses to the day before on his bed. She’d been more assertive about what she wanted, and had pressed eagerly against him like she couldn’t bear to move away. Although she always responded to him today, she never initiated anything either, and more than once he’d noticed that she would be in the process of tugging him closer when she’d freeze – not that she’d pull away, but that she was stopping herself from going further. It wasn’t until he was showering after returning from the lake that he remembered her using the word “frustrated” during their talk that morning, and a lightbulb went off in his head.

Fitz thunked his head back against the plastic stall, cursing himself for being such an imbecile – he’d been kissing and touching Jemma all day with the understanding that they wouldn’t take it much further than that. But he’d also interrupted her while she was... masturbating (he had to take a deep breath at that thought, spluttering a little under the shower’s spray) the night before, and judging by the way she spoke this morning she hadn’t _finished_ after his interruption. So he’d been effectively teasing her without following through all day, and now he felt like even more of an ass. An idea for how to make this up to her wormed its way into his head, but it took him a lot of internal debating before he’d convinced himself that it wasn’t a bad idea – and, more importantly, that it wasn’t too fast.

All through cooking and eating dinner, Fitz went back and forth about whether he should really bring it up with her, if Jemma might think the idea bizarre considering the unspecified nature of their relationship right now. Then again, they _had_ been best friends for almost a decade. In some ways, they were moving astronomically slowly. Ultimately, what convinced him to say anything was seeing her watch his hands as they ate, how she snapped her gaze away without warning, as if she knew she was doing something she wasn’t supposed to but couldn’t help herself. He guessed it was similar to the way he used to stare at her in their lab on the Bus, or when she’d just returned from Hydra and he’d been trying desperately to make himself stop loving her.

Once they were mostly through cleaning up, Fitz leaned against the counter opposite Jemma, twisting his hands slowly together as he watched her. After a few moments, she noticed his gaze and raised an eyebrow, one hand coming to rest on her hip. “What?”

“I...” he started, licking his lips and praying to God that her first reaction wouldn’t be to slap him. “I was thinking about last night –”

“I told you,” she interrupted, going back to dropping silverware into the allotted drawer, “you don’t have to apologize –”

“That wasn’t what I was gonna say,” he said, making her turn more fully towards him. “I mean, I – am that, but I was, um, thinking.... I know I said that we should take things one step at a time, and I still think so –”

“And I agree –”

“Right, good. But I was sorta thinking that maybe we could... uh, maybe I could... help you. Relieve some of your... y’know.” Her eyes nearly doubled in size at that, and he rushed to clarify. “Because I’m dying to do more with you, honestly, Jemma, it’s practically a, uh, miracle that I’ve been able to hold off for a whole day, and I thought that this could be a good way to, I dunno, try it out. For you.” A flush settled in his cheeks and he laughed awkwardly, rubbing one hand along the back of his neck. “And I really do feel badly about last night. Gotta make it up to you somehow.” 

Jemma seemed to study his face then, as if that might give her a clue to what he was thinking. “You _do_ realize how bizarre that sounds, right?”

She ended the sentence with a small smile, so he didn’t think she was upset, and Fitz chuckled a little, hunching over before giving his answer. “Yeah, I know. And you can tell me to bugger off and we’ll pretend like it never happened. But I thought it’d be better to ask – y’know, just in case.” Another pause settled between them as she considered his offer, and he gave his head a small shake before speaking again. “I’ll do whatever you want, Jemma. Just tell me.”

Jemma dropped her gaze for a few seconds, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. “I’m...” she cleared her throat, tugging nervously at a lock of hair. “I – just, yes.” When she made eye contact with him again, her eyes were darkened in a way he’d only seen once before. “Yes, Fitz.” 

His heart gave a sharp thud, and he inhaled, still not quite able to believe this was happening. Christ, he hoped he didn’t fuck it up. Her eyes followed him as he moved behind her, dropping his hands to her waist and nuzzling briefly into her hair. They stood pressed together for a few, long moments, one of her hands coming up to rest over his. Fitz tried to memorize what it felt like to hold her in his arms for the first time, the way she leaned back into him and tilted her head slightly, to see him in her peripheral vision, the smell of her skin and her lavender shampoo making his brain feel fuzzy and slow. Eventually, he let himself lean down to glide his tongue over the curve of her ear before pulling the lobe into his mouth and she shivered, letting out a small puff of air. Trying to gauge if that had been a good reaction, he paused; she didn’t move away, though, so he didn’t either, and instead tried to convince himself to be honest about his main concern right now.

“I’ve never done this before,” he whispered, feeling very glad that he didn’t have to worry about her watching as his cheeks heated up. “So you’ll have to tell me, y’know, if I’m off track.” Another shudder ran through Jemma’s body and he realized that his breath was washing over the ear he’d just teased; maybe the shivering was a good thing. Sliding his lips along her neck and sucking gently, a small thrill shot through him at the ensuing whimper, wondering just how frustrated she must be for him to coax out these reactions so easily. “But I figured you wouldn’t mind,” he added, feeling a little more daring, “since you always did like ordering me around.”

“So long as you actually listen to me,” she shot back breathily, leaning her head against him and baring more of her neck.

The needy undertone of her voice made him feel lightheaded, and he lowered his mouth to her neck again, taking his time in exploring how many different little sounds he could get her to make underneath just this much of his attention. He let one hand abandon her hip to slide around to her lower abdomen, two fingers just barely dipping beneath the hem of her jeans, and he took a second to be thankful that the gloves had sped up his healing so quickly. Jemma’s hips twitched forward at his movement and she inhaled, twisting her head around to capture his lips. His concentration was almost stretched to breaking as he tried to match every move of her mouth and tongue while unbuttoning her jeans, letting out a quiet groan when she nipped at his lower lip. When he finally managed to tug the zipper down, her hips twitched backwards, pressing her against where he was now rather hard, and he wondered just how much of what she was doing was conscious. Knowing Jemma, probably more than it seemed.

Once he needed air, Fitz began to trail his lips along her jaw and down her neck, focusing carefully on his right hand as he took a deep breath and slid it below the edge of her underwear and further down. To his surprise, when he pressed between her outer labia he could already feel evidence of her arousal on his fingers, which slicked easily against the softer, more sensitive folds. A groan hitched in his own throat in tandem with her gasp, both of them now wholly focused on this one, small part of Jemma’s body. After giving himself a moment to be overwhelmed by being allowed to touch her in this way, he reminded himself of what he knew (in theory) about the female body: If he wanted to make this good for her, he needed to find her clit.

First allowing Jemma a moment to shift her thighs further apart and flattening his left palm over her lower abdomen, Fitz took his time, tracing soft patterns within her sensitive skin, dipping his fingers further down to where she was the wettest before slicking them back up. Her breathing was entirely uneven, and when he paused from kissing along her neck and shoulder he saw that her fingers were gripping the counter’s edge so hard that her knuckles were white. Despite his best efforts, though, he didn’t seem to be having any luck in achieving his goal, and he didn’t want to leave her feeling unsatisfied, so, feeling his cheeks burn, he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Jemma,” he murmured, another thrill shooting through him at her brief, answering whimper. “I... I don’t know....” He inhaled and buried his face in her hair. “I’m not sure where... your clit is. I just, um, don’t wanna do something wrong. Can you show me?”

“Oh, Fitz,” she breathed, tone colored with affection, and twisted her head around to give him a short, passionate kiss.

He could feel his ears burning as she pulled away, studying her expression. “What?”

“You’re just...” Jemma trailed off, giving him a small smile. “Thank you for asking.” She pressed another kiss to his jaw and then turned back around, settling herself against him again.

A rather large part of him wanted to push her to explain her reaction; his inexperience didn’t seem to warrant thanks of any kind in his mind, particularly considering his age. Her hand slid over his between her thighs, however, and he decided that there were more important things for him to be paying attention to right now. Like the fact that his and Jemma’s hands were now entwined against her slick flesh, and, oh lord, he’d never experienced anything so erotic in his life. Watching her arm lie over his and disappear into her trousers was so distracting he had to take a breath to force himself to focus on the way she’d begun to move his hand. Her two forefingers led his mirroring fingers further up, until they passed over a soft, distinctive nub, and a sharp shudder rolled through Jemma’s entire body. 

“That,” she gasped, removing her hand as he tried massaging the spot with his own two fingers, “that’s the clitoris.”

Fitz hummed, avidly cataloguing the shivers that ran through her every time he touched her there, starting on an easy circular pattern that she seemed to like. Her hips started rotating ever-so-slightly in time with his strokes, as if she couldn’t help but chase that feeling, quiet little noises of pleasure eking out of her throat. “Is this how you touch yourself, Jemma? When you’re alone?” He spoke against the shell of her ear, voice low and intimate, fascinated by the way just saying her name was rewarded by a hitched whimper.

“Yes,” she moaned, breaking off into a small whine as he slid his fingers away to coat them in her arousal. When he drew them back up, he tried something else, a firmer, faster stroke, and was pleased with the way this made her hips rock forward. “Oh, _please_ , Fitz –” 

Feeling her legs begin to buckle a little, he pressed her even closer in with his other hand, both to make sure that she was supported and because he needed to be as close to her as possible, wanting to feel every sensation that shuddered through her under his hands. “What d’you want, Jemma?”

“I want –” She cut herself off on a gasp when he changed his pattern again, a breathy whimper falling out of her mouth. “I want....” To Fitz’s surprise, however, she let out a low sigh, reaching down to catch his wrist. “I want to stop.” He froze, fear of having done something wrong slithering rapidly through his stomach. “Just long enough to move so I’m not standing,” she added as she turned around, and he puffed out a relieved breath. 

“Oh, yeah. Alright.” Fitz was somewhat disappointed that her shift in position meant that his hand had to come out of her jeans, but the shy smile she gave him as she wrapped her arms around his waist more than made up for it. 

“My bed?” The inner part of her irises shone in the cabin’s dim lighting, their normal golden-brown darkened, and he was torn between just staring deeply into them and considering her suggestion.

It was tempting – so dizzyingly tempting – to agree to let her lead him to her bed, but his own eagerness pinged a warning bell in his head. He just knew that once they were there, lying next to each other with each of her little sounds and moans winding up his arousal, it would be so easy to say to hell with their agreement, to shed all their clothes and doubts and become completely wrapped up in each other. No matter how eager they might be, they weren’t ready yet – he wasn’t ready yet, still too unsure of not only their relationship but also of his health. What would having sex do to his new powers? Could he contaminate Jemma somehow? His worries might be for naught, but he was still too nervous to risk it, and the bed would just be a further temptation that he might not be able to resist once there. (He was only human – in his mind, if not in his DNA – and there were only so many times he could say no to the brilliant, beautiful woman he’d loved for so long.)

“I think that’s a bad idea,” he answered softly, caressing her cheek with his left hand. Glancing away from the brief flash of hurt on her face, his eyes landed on the perfect solution. “The couch?”

“Oh,” she breathed, relief brightening her face. “Yes, good idea.”

“I have those occasionally,” he joked, pulling her with him to the center of the room. Releasing her hands, he considered the couch for a moment before tossing the back cushions away, except for one that he set up against the arm to give him more support. Then he settled himself against it and glanced up, mirroring her soft smile with his own. “C’mere?” 

Jemma slid onto the couch between his legs, using his outstretched hand to keep her balance. “A Fitz-sofa,” she teased, arranging herself comfortably against his chest, “I could get used to this.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Fitz pressed a kiss to the back of her head, muffling the small hiss that escaped his throat as her wiggling into place rubbed tantalizingly against his erection.

Once she was seated, she twisted around to give him a long, sensual kiss, her fingers gently stroking the side of his face, and he sighed into her mouth. The idea of ever having wanted to leave this cabin seemed bizarre to him now, never wanting to lose the privilege of being able to hold, touch, caress Jemma like this whenever he wanted – even though he’d only been allowed to do this for less than a day. She smiled against his lips, pressing in for heady, open-mouthed kisses. As much as he could get addicted to this, Fitz didn’t want her to get too distracted from the loose, pliable arousal she’d been floating on before they moved, so he shifted his hands from where they rested behind her shoulders. He hooked his thumbs into her jeans and underwear, tugging them down a couple inches, just enough to give him more space and not enough to bare much other than her hipbones to his gaze. Jemma broke away from his mouth, shifting the jeans so that she was comfortable before leaning back against him once more.

“Now,” he murmured, letting his lips and stubble graze against her neck, “where was I?”

As he slid his hand between her legs, she placed both of hers on his upper thighs, fingers flexing when he went right back to massaging her clit. “Oh _yes_ , Fitz,” she breathed, letting her head fall against his shoulder. “ _God_ yes, there.”

Her hips started to roll forward to meet his touch, and he had the abrupt realization that he hadn’t considered all of the variables before suggesting this position. Each of her little movements ground against his already-hard cock, making it far more difficult to ignore how desperately turned on he was. It took a lot of effort for him to not rock his own hips forward to increase that amazing friction, and he made the quick decision to find something else to distract himself first.

“ _Jemma_ ,” he groaned, initially just wanting her attention but getting lost in the way she moved against him. “Can I....” He trailed off, sliding two fingers down to circle the slick ring of her entrance. “Can I, um....” His cheeks flushed again as he tried to figure out a way to ask what he wanted without sounding ridiculous, but nothing came to him. 

Instead, Jemma whimpered, tilting her hips up so that the tips of his fingers pressed just within. “Yes, Fitz, _please_.”

Swallowing, Fitz allowed his forefinger to slip slowly inside, waiting for a moment to see if she made any protest. He was unable to check his own gritted-out moan, though, at the feeling of how hot and wet she was around that one digit, her muscles grasping at him as she rocked her hips up. The idea of what that would feel like around his cock was almost too much for him, and he closed his eyes as he pressed his mouth to her shoulder to try to stay his own arousal. That didn’t quite work, though, as he started sliding his finger in and out, adding a second one to increase the friction for her and earning him a low, appreciative moan of her own.

“Fitz,” she started, words broken up on gasps as he slid his thumb in slower patterns elsewhere along her folds. “If you – if you p-press up, along the front inside, you – _oh God_ , that, please, _again_. – You’ll find a spot that’s, _ohhhh_ , rougher than everywhere else. Please, just....”

Her instructions helped him to focus, taking some of the edge off the way his cock throbbed at just the thought of being surrounded by all this tight slickness. His lips curved up in faint amusement, too, at her willingness to lead him, having suspected that Jemma wouldn’t mind his inexperience too much as long as she got to be the teacher. It took him a little bit of searching, snugging her back against himself with the hand he held around her abdomen as he concentrated, but her reaction once he’d found the described rougher part explained why she’d wanted him to find it. Jemma’s back arched sharply and a high cry escaped her throat, her muscles clenching firmly around his fingers as if to keep him in place. 

 _God_ , it was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard, the way she couldn’t hold back her moans and whimpers anymore as he focused on stimulating that one spot. Shivers rolled through her whole body and her passage became even slicker, fluttering around his fingers in what seemed to be a very, very good precursor. The fact that he’d abandoned her clit popped into his head, and Fitz wished he had a way to stimulate her there as well, to push her as high as possible before sending her over the edge. But he needed his other hand to keep her pressed against himself, holding her in the position that allowed his active hand as much access as possible, and he tried to let go of the idea for the moment. It wouldn’t quite go away, though, and as he rubbed faster inside her he imagined how she might respond if he was working her clit over as well.

“Fitz!” Jemma cried out, throwing her head back as her hips lifted off the couch. “Oh _God_ , what’re – how’re you – _ah! Oh God, oh yes! Please! Pleeeeeeease –_ ” Her voice cracked as she reached a pitch she couldn’t quite hit, her whole body tightening before letting loose in one, fast burst, waves rolling through her limbs as her orgasm broke over her.

Fitz let out an answering groan at the way she was rocking against him, feeling elated and proud and that he never wanted her climax to stop. Not thinking about it too closely, he continued moving his fingers inside her, the way her body clenched repeatedly around him just making him feel even more heated. 

Although he’d never seen a woman orgasm before, he hadn’t expected it to go on this long, her drawn-out waves of pleasure making him feel drunk. “Oh God, Fitz,” she moaned, raising one hand to her forehead, “I’m going to – I think I’m – gonna – come again –! Fuck, _please_ , just, like, _that_!” Her voice rang out in another long, loud moan, sweat breaking over her skin as she shuddered repeatedly in his hold, and he felt her muscles tightening around the fingers he continued to stroke within her.

Watching Jemma come a second time was undeniably hot, but he wasn’t sure how he’d done it – by all accounts women were harder to bring to orgasm, and he’d only had one hand involved, even if he’d been thinking about using his other one. All he could do, though, was keep her held steadily against himself, muffling his own groans of pleasure in her shoulder. 

As her body slowed its fervent trembling, her thighs closed over his hand and she reached down to grab weakly onto his wrist. “Enough, p-please,” she whimpered, small moans still working out of her throat. Fitz immediately withdrew his hand, wrapping that arm securely around her abdomen to keep them pressed together, relieved that she’d told him when to stop. For a few, long moments, both of them laid on the couch, breathing heavily as small, high whimpers escaped Jemma’s throat in the aftermath.

What he could see of her was stunningly beautiful, skin flushed and lips parted, long eyelashes fluttering darkly against her cheeks, and he was pretty sure he was the luckiest bastard in the world. Feeling adoring and affectionate, he brushed his lips against her cheek, hoping that maybe he’d be able to coax her back to her senses. For as much as he was enjoying her post-orgasmic daze, he also wanted some form of feedback or reassurance, for her to tell him that she didn’t regret agreeing to this in the first place. A part of him was certain that he was going to wake up any moment – that the past day was far too good to be real.

After a few minutes of recovery, once she’d caught her breath, Jemma turned in his hold, limbs sluggish as she clambered out of her previous position. Shifting so that she was curled against his chest, she pressed slow, sloppy kisses along his jaw, sliding one hand over his shoulder. 

“Wow,” she breathed at last, nuzzling against his neck. “That was bloody mind-blowing.” He grinned down at her, preparing to make a teasing remark about what it would be like when they actually had sex, but she spoke over him. “I can’t believe you managed to control your powers like that –” 

“What?” Brows furrowing, he leaned back to look at her properly, almost distracted by the satisfied half-smile she wore.

“I mean, you’ve been having trouble getting the earthquakes to stop, Fitz, it’s amazing that you were able to exert that kind of sustained control –” 

Fear settled low in his gut, and he interrupted her. “Jemma, what’re you talking about? I wasn’t using my powers.”

She drew back to frown at him, tucking hair behind her ear. “But you had to have been. One second it was just one hand, um, inside me, and then the next it felt like....” Flushing, she dropped her gaze. “It felt like something was vibrating around my clit even though I _knew_ there wasn’t anything there.”

The color drained from Fitz’s face as he realized what had happened; he’d thought about getting her off in that way, and the subconscious part of his brain that was so attuned to his new powers had put the thought into action somehow. “That’s why you came twice.” His voice was flat as he barely held back the anger and frustration that was rapidly boiling to the surface. “Because of the ruddy powers.”

Jemma peered worriedly up at him, the post-coital lassitude having disappeared from her face. “So you weren’t doing that on purpose?” 

“ _Fuck_.” He slid off of the couch, letting her legs drop onto the cushion as he strode rapidly across the room, vision blurring out. “Oh God,” he whispered, turning back although he couldn’t really see her anymore. “I could have hurt you, Jemma –”

“Fitz,” she tried to interrupt him, scrambling up from the couch and yanking her jeans closed. But he wouldn’t hear it, his head swimming with one nightmare scenario after another – her screaming in pain, being ripped apart from where he touched her, and he collapsed onto a chair, clutching his head in his hands. The room trembled.

“I could have _killed_ you, and you trusted me – fuck, it was my idea, I should never have suggested it –”

“Fitz,” she said, kneeling in front of him and tilting slightly to the side as the room moved around them. “Stop that, listen to me –”

“I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you, never –”

“Shut up, please!” He raised his head at that, eyes glassy as they met hers, and she tangled her fingers into his on his knees. “Fitz, you didn’t hurt me –”

“But I could have –”

“But you didn’t! Jesus, you made me feel _fantastic_.” Her eyes were wide as they bored into his, as if she could hypnotize him into believing her. “I’ve never come twice in one night before, let alone one time right after the other,” she said, giving a small shudder at the memory. “Just, think about it, Fitz – your powers don’t _have_ to be bad. If you can do things like that, delicate things, just think of what else you might be able to do –”

“It was a lucky damned accident, Jemma,” he bit out, tears rolling down his cheeks as the lighting fixtures swayed worrisomely above them. “I can’t control it, I could do something horrible and not even know until it was done.”

She stretched up to press their foreheads together, holding him there with two hands on either side of his face as well as she could within the shaking room. “I trust you, Fitz. I don’t believe that your powers are as unpredictable as you think they are.” He choked out a dark laugh, gesturing to the cabin, where dust sifted down from the shaking rafters. “Stop trying to control it and focus on me. You’re going to be fine – Fitz, look at me.”

After a moment, he did as she said, blinking away the moisture on his lashes. Jemma stared back at him, her eyes mere centimeters away, and – unlike the rest of the room – her gaze was steady. “I love you, and we’re going to figure out your powers together.” 

A warm calm washed through him at her words, and his mouth dropped open. “You what?”

“You heard me,” she whispered, holding eye contact as they hadn’t been able to do for months and months of this year. “I know we’re not actually – you know, together, I suppose, but nothing about us has ever been expected anyway, and –” She cut herself off with a wince. “Sorry, I’m... rambling. I just meant that we don’t know what we are right now, but I know that I love you, Fitz. I’ve known that for a long time, even if I didn’t know what kind of love it was until... rather recently. And I’m not going anywhere until we figure this out.”

His heart ached, chest constricting from having wanted to hear Jemma say that to him for so long, from having lost hope a long time ago that she ever would. And now, of course, she said it just when he could be the worst thing for her, could be the person who ended up killing her. “What if I hurt you...?”

“I won’t lose you to fear, Fitz,” she said, eyes searching his, “I just won’t. Not again. We’ll be careful, and take precautions, of course. But I don’t believe you’d ever hurt me, and you need to, too.” She glanced up at the stilled light fixtures and her lips quirked upwards. “Look.”

He didn’t need to, though; he’d noticed that the room had stopped shaking almost the second she’d said those three particular words, the buzzing rolling back and being drowned out by the warmth spreading through his chest as he stared at her.

“I love you so much,” he choked out, burying his face in her neck as his arms wrapped fiercely around her shoulders. 

“Oh, good.” She gave a low, nervous chuckle as she returned his hug, gently petting the back of his head. “I was... well, never mind.”

“You have to promise you’d save yourself.” Fitz pulled back to meet her eyes. “If something happens and I lose control, you have to promise that you’d leave me and save yourself. Otherwise I’ll call Trip and have him, um, take you out of here tomorrow.”

“Fitz,” she began, indignation coloring her tone, but he interrupted her again.

“Knowing that you’ve promised is the only way I’ll be able to sleep with you here, after this. Please, Jemma,” he whispered, holding tightly to her hands. “Please make me that promise.” 

She studied his face, tears filling her eyes as she shook her head. “I don’t want to lea–”

“ _Please_.”

Silence hovered between them for what felt like a long time, then, and she closed her eyes. “I promise.”

The knot in his chest loosened, and he wrapped himself around her again, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Thank you.” 

Jemma smoothed one hand along the back of his head, scrunching her fingers into his hair, and he sighed, relaxing into her embrace as much as he could from this awkward position. “Come on,” she murmured at last, “I think it’s time for bed.”

Drawing back and scrubbing his shirtsleeve against his cheeks, Fitz nodded, letting her pull him up once she’d climbed to her feet. But when she tried tugging him in the direction of her bedroom, he frowned and dug his feet into the carpet. “What’re you –”

“You’re going to sleep in my bed with me,” she answered matter-of-factly, giving his hand another gentle pull as she turned around. “Not to – you know, not to fool around. Just to sleep.” Giving him a sly grin, she took a couple steps backward. “I promise not to take advantage of you.”

He couldn’t help the small laugh that drew from him, but he held his ground. “I ‘preciate the thought, Jemma, but it’s safer if I sleep in a room by myself, in case I have nightmares –”

“Then I’ll be there to calm you down straight away,” she interrupted. “And, you know, it’s safest near the center of the storm, and all that.”

Frowning, Fitz let her pull him a couple steps forward. “But – that’s not actually how earthquakes work....”

The sigh Jemma released was truly exasperated this time, and she gave him a dry look. “But you don’t have just earthquake powers, obviously. I don’t think an _earthquake_ gave me two bloody good orgasms earlier tonight.”

“Oh.” She had a point there. It seemed that there had been a scientific benefit to him getting her off. He scratched just above his eyebrow, trying to think of any other argument he could possibly make but coming up empty. And he couldn’t deny that the idea of falling asleep next to Jemma was infinitely appealing. 

“Are you coming, or am I going to have to drag you after me?”

Fitz laughed, and held his unoccupied hand up in submission. “I’m coming, alright?”

She gave another yank on his other hand, and he made an indignant squawk. “Sorry,” she said, biting her lip over a smile. “Couldn’t help myself.” 

“Oh really?” Giving her a faux-glare, Fitz advanced menacingly towards her and she made an adorable squeak as she turned on her heel and ran into the bedroom. But he was too close for her to get very far and was able to catch her around the waist before she could get halfway around the bed. They were both giggling madly by the time he was able to actually attempt to tickle her, and her only defense was to twist in his hold enough that he was forced to let them both tumble onto the mattress.

He wasn’t totally sure how it happened, but one second they were both laughing hysterically and the next Jemma was lying on top of him, both hands cradling his head as she slid her tongue into his mouth. The groan that rumbled out of his throat was deep and she whimpered in response, hips rolling ever-so-slightly over his and making heat dart through his veins. Much to his own regret, Fitz moved his hands to her hips, stilling her movements and causing her to break away from his lips just enough that he could speak. “Jemma, we should –”

“I know,” she panted, pressing her forehead briefly against his shoulder. But it was a good few seconds before she actually rolled off of him to sit along the edge of the mattress, sweeping her hair out of her face and letting out a slow breath.

“Me too, y’know,” he said, voice quiet as he sat up, smoothing his hands up and down his thighs to get himself under some semblance of control.

Jemma gave him a small grin, gaze flicking down to his jeans and back up. “I know.” Before he could be properly embarrassed, though, she pushed off the bed. “I’ll brush my teeth and get ready now, then you, okay?”

Fitz nodded, smiling until the second that she closed the door behind her – at which point he flopped back onto the bed and covered his face with his hands, regressing immediately into the terror that he could have hurt Jemma while in the middle of doing something so intimate. Sometimes he thought she truly had no idea of exactly how little control he had over his powers. Just when he thought he’d figured out some way of manipulating them, something new would happen and he’d be right back at the beginning again.

He spent the entire time that they were getting ready for bed dwelling on his concerns, not knowing how he was ever going to calm down enough to sleep – until he padded back in from the bathroom to see Jemma curled up on the bed. The second that she saw him, she tugged down the sheet and blanket on what was apparently his side and gave him a warm smile. All of a sudden, his worries seemed so much smaller than they had when he was alone, and he was reminded of why they’d always been better when they were together.

When he didn’t move right away, she crooked an eyebrow, and he jerked forward. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled as he clambered onto the bed, turning to fluff the pillow behind him. “Just – you looked really pretty.”

Jemma made a quiet “aw,” and then scooted forward to wrap her arm around his stomach and rest her head on his chest. Fitz didn’t know what to do for a second – he hadn’t really considered that she’d want to cuddle – but he quickly curled one arm around her shoulder and linked his fingers with her other hand. 

“I was thinking about the physics of your powers,” she murmured, squeezing his fingers between her own. “As far as I know, there was no heat created when....” Jemma paused, sliding her eyes up to his. “When you were using them on me. And that sort of defies our knowledge of physics, doesn’t it? Or maybe you have an additional ability to nullify that. It’s quite fascinating.”

A smile had begun to spread across his face at her musings, until she said the last and he had to look away. “Well, we can’t replicate the experiment, so. Might never know.” He could feel her sigh against him, pressing more firmly against him.

“I know you were scared, but... honestly, Fitz, tonight was lovely.” Her breath fanned over his collarbone as she glanced shyly up at him, although he didn’t meet her gaze right away. He’d gotten distracted by the image of their fingers tangled together over his plain cotton shirt, by its rightness and the little thrill of domesticity it sent through him.

Eventually, he processed what she’d said and he felt his ears flush. “Well that’s... I’m, uh, I’m glad. I thought so, too, until, y’know....”

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.” Jemma nuzzled into his neck, the cool tip of her nose pressing against his skin, and Fitz exhaled. Even having just had this brief taste of what they might be able to have together, if his powers didn’t mess everything up, only made him that much more desperate for it. For her. He couldn’t bear the thought of having to walk away now – but he’d do anything to keep her safe.

Anything.


	7. Can we stay right here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [All That I Am](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldaoJY61wag) by Rob Thomas.

When Fitz awoke, the first thing he noticed was that a warm, slender body was in the process of insinuating itself against his, shimmying backwards on the bed and pulling his hand around her abdomen.

 _Jemma_. 

The thought that she’d gotten up from the bed at some point and then returned to cuddle made him inordinately happy, and he let out a contented little noise. Half-asleep, he pulled her tighter in against himself, and she shifted slightly, arching her back and... _oh_ , rubbing against his morning erection. A small groan escaped his throat, and, only partially aware of his own actions, he ground back against her, pressing his mouth against the shoulder bared to him above the hem of her thin camisole. He just needed a moment to take off the edge of his desire, he told himself, brows knotted with the pleasure of having her body molded against his – until she made an intentional, reciprocating wiggle.

“ _Fiiiitz_ ,” Jemma let out in a barely audible, shaky moan, shifting with intention until his cock pressed between her thighs even while hindered by his clothes. She started rocking back against him with purpose then and he moaned into her skin, letting his own hips give the slow, strong thrusts that he wanted, the heat of her tangible even through the fabric of both their pajamas and underwear. The way she made him feel was addictive, the sounds of her high-pitched little pants just making him even more desperate, and he’d been so turned on so many times last night without coming that just giving in to what they both wanted was starting to sound like a perfect solution. Jemma was responsive to his every movement, shuddering in his hold as his cock stroked against her through the cloth, and it made him feel feverish, as if this couldn’t possibly be real, as if he was still sleeping.

Her hand abandoned his where they’d been tangled over her lower abdomen and gripped the underside of his upper thigh, sliding closer to his arse and spurring him to make harder thrusts. She whimpered eagerly against him, fingers flexing into his muscles, and – finally, as his instincts voiced the fervent desire to lose the rest of their clothes, Fitz managed to come to some semblance of sense. Breathing as hard as if he’d been running, he scooted ungracefully away from Jemma to the other side of the bed, tucking his legs up against his chest to hide the unmistakable tent in his pajamas (as if she hadn’t already felt the length of him where he’d been thrusting back against her, but that was neither here nor there).   

A quiet “no” escaped her mouth when he separated from her, and she twisted around to face him. “Why’d you stop?” The way she stared at him from underneath her hair, eyes dark as she slicked her tongue over her lips, was so hot that he let out a brief, involuntary whine before he spoke. 

“We – we can’t, Jemma –”

“Honestly, Fitz, we’re both adults, if we want to have sex there’s no reason not to –”

“We don’t know enough about what’s happened to me,” he countered quietly, and she dropped her eyes to the sheets. “What if I could infect you? What if a condom wasn’t enough to protect you? We just don’t _know_ , and I can’t... I won’t risk hurting you somehow. I won’t.”

Jemma shifted around to face him, and he noticed the brief wince she made as she pressed her legs together. “You’re right –”

“Doesn’t happen often, does it?”

“Oh, shush,” she said, swatting at him with a fond smile. “But maybe... I mean, last night you offered to help me, um, relieve my –”

“Jemma...” he said, voice low in warning. 

“Why not, Fitz? You... I could feel you against me last night, and this morning. Obviously. And I’d like to... I’d like to return the favor. As it were.” She shuffled towards him on her knees across the bed, keeping a good few inches between them. “You’re right about your condition, and that we should wait until we know more. But maybe... maybe doing things like this will be a good way to tide us over. Until we know.” Giving him a sly smile, she tucked loose hair behind one ear. “And if we... if you’d like, we could do it – I mean, not _it_ , but....” She groaned into a small laugh, one hand coming up to curl around the back of her neck. “In the shower, I mean. Less temptation, that way, and... well, you’d get to see me naked.”

“Holy Christ,” he muttered, getting completely distracted at the idea of what she was actually suggesting. Showering with Jemma, getting to watch water slide tantalizingly over her wet skin as she worked her hands over him... it was probably better than any of the fantasies he’d come up with on his own. (Or at least was certainly comparable.) He wanted to say yes with every fiber of his being, but he had to ask one last question first – he thought he knew the answer she’d give, and if she did, then he’d limit his concerns to whether or not his powers could be a problem. “You don’t think this is too fast? Because I-I really want to _be_ with you, Jemma, go on dates and everything and not just be, I dunno, venting mutual frustration, or something.”

Reaching out to grab his hand and interlink their fingers, Jemma was silent for a long time, her jaw clenching and unclenching as she worked out her answer. Her grip was strong, and Fitz started to worry when she met his gaze, blinking back tears. But she gave him a tremulous smile and a small headshake, and some of that tension eased out of his chest. “No, I don’t think this is too fast. I think... I’ve really been rather slow, this time. Once we’ve figured all of _this_ out,” she said, giving the cabin itself a general wave, “I promise, you can take me on dates and everything, and we can be really, properly together. Until then, we’ve just got each other. Here. Now.” 

Fitz shuffled forward so that he was close enough to press their foreheads together, just wanting to be close to her. Because he ached for Jemma in every way – not just the part of himself that was attracted to her, but the part that wanted to be as close to her as possible in an emotional way, too. That wanted to be able to just make her happy in a whole host of inane, everyday ways, as well as in their working relationship. “Good,” he eventually managed to get out, voice thick with feeling, and then leaned forward to capture her lips with his.

Jemma immediately wrapped her arms around his torso, pulling him up and against her as she angled his mouth open for deep, heated kisses. He realized that she tasted like toothpaste, and was briefly distracted by the fact that he obviously hadn’t brushed his own teeth yet – until she gave a deliberate roll of her hips against him. Breaking away from her mouth to take a low, shuddery breath, he moved instinctively back against her, her arm snugged more tightly around his waist to keep them pressed together and her body leading as they ground slowly against each other. She didn’t seem phased by his slow reaction, working her lips down his neck. Accepting that this was going to go farther now, Fitz smoothed his hands down to her arse to press her against himself more firmly, the occasional, small groan working its way out of his throat as they rocked together on the bed. He shifted his hips slightly, causing her to she break away from his skin with a moan, and he guessed that he’d managed to find the right angle for him to press against her center. Her hands moved to his arms as he thrust forward a little faster, a little harder, and she whimpered, leaning most of her weight against him except for where she was rocking back, and her fingers tightened.

Abruptly, Jemma pulled away, causing Fitz to nearly fall forward onto the bed in his body’s instinctive chase for the pleasure she’d been sparking.

“Come on,” she murmured, reaching out to tug him behind her into the bathroom. 

“Gimme a sec,” he said, striding over to the sink and brushing his teeth as quickly as was physically possible. She let out a sound between a snort and a laugh, and he rinsed his mouth out, crooking an eyebrow. “Hygiene’s important, Dr. Simmons.”

“Indeed, Dr. Fitz,” she teased back, eyes shining in the early morning light. “Including showering.” Then she reached down and pulled off her camisole, and he wouldn’t have been able to remember his own name if she’d asked.

Although in theory he’d thought about what Jemma would look like naked, Fitz was in no way prepared for her to strip off all her clothes right in front of him. He didn’t know what to focus on first as she straightened up, his eyes darting between her perfectly round breasts, their peaked, rosy nipples, the way her hips flared out at her waist, or the dark triangle of hair that led to the place his desperately hard cock wanted to be. Freckles dusted her pale skin all over, he was dimly thrilled to note, and she had a few darker moles sprinkled near her breasts. The rise and fall of her chest as she breathed was an absolute godsend.

“Um, hello? Fitz? Are you in there?” 

A laugh colored her voice, and he realized that he’d been standing completely still, head tilted to the left and mouth hanging open as he stared at her. The way her hands fidgeted at her side, as if she wanted to cover herself up, made him realize that he should probably say something complimentary so that she knew that covering up was exactly the last thing he wanted her to do right now.

“Fuck.” 

That wasn’t quite what he’d intended, but the very uncharacteristic giggle she released did manage to get him to raise his gaze to her eyes. “Fitz,” she said, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “Am I the first woman you’ve ever seen naked in person?” 

A blush creeping up his neck, he nodded, thinking as quickly as possible to find a way to salvage the embarrassing turn this had taken. “Don’t care about other women, to be honest,” he managed to squeeze hoarsely out. “You’re bloody perfect.”

The smile she gave him then was wide and bright, and a blush bloomed on her cheeks. “Cheers. Now, um, don’t you want to....” She trailed off, taking a few steps forward to tug on the hem of his shirt.

Honestly, he didn’t particularly want to remove his clothes; he wasn’t completely clueless, and, having seen the way that she’d admired both Mike and Trip, he was fairly sure he wasn’t going to measure up to her fantasies the way she did for him. But he also knew that turn about was fair play, so, cringing a little, he reached down and stretched his pajamas and boxers over his erection and off, and then stripped away his shirt. It took him a few self-conscious seconds before he could bring himself to look for her reaction, so, when he did, he was rather surprised to see the way her whole face had turned pink and her gaze had fixed on his cock. Although he’d been fortunate to never feel the need to be ashamed by his size, considering that he’d always been rather skinny and short, Fitz was realistic and knew that he fell solidly within the “average” range in terms of length. Judging by general pop culture osmosis, he also knew that “bigger was better.”

But Jemma’s response completely threw him, especially once he realized that her breathing had sped up – and then she licked her lips in a decidedly, unconsciously lascivious way. His breath caught in a small choke at the realization that she was staring at his cock with blatant desire – something which he never would have expected in a million years – and it took him a few tries before he was able to say anything. “Uh, Jemma?”

She flicked her eyes briefly up to his but they darted right back down again, and she cleared her throat. “Judging by my estimation, you are approximately the right length and girth to provide maximum pleasure to the female form.”

Fitz blinked. Girth? Actually, the second that he thought about it and then remembered how he’d pleasured her the night before, that made sense – she hadn’t asked him to press in deeper, but along the side. Perhaps pop culture osmosis wasn’t actually all that accurate. 

That being said, he still wasn’t sure how to respond. “Oh.”

Exhaling slowly, she finally tore her gaze away and gave him a slow smile, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth. “You can touch. If you want.” 

“God, I do,” he breathed, and then winced at the over-eagerness of his own voice. She just grinned wider, however, so he reached out to her hips and carefully began to stroke his hands over her skin. One hand traced the few moles along the side of her ribs, running his thumb over each in turn and watching as gooseflesh shivered up along the trail of his touch. Unable to resist the way she watched him, though, he paused to press slow, gentle kisses to her lips, taking full advantage of being allowed to kiss her as much as he wanted. Then he moved to press his lips over her cheek, her temple, her closed eyelids – everywhere on her face that struck his fancy, and the sound she made in response was rather like a purr, her arms curling into her own chest.

The offer to be able to really touch her hadn’t fully left his mind, however, so Fitz leaned back just enough that he could see what he was doing. Starting at her shoulders, he gave one, long sweep down her back and up her sides, feeling her muscles twitch under his attention, the softness of her skin only undermined by way she shivered under his hands. “You’re cold,” he murmured, noting that her torso was much cooler now than it had felt when they were in bed.

“A bit,” she admitted, and then reached up to give him a quick, chaste kiss before hopping over to turn on the shower. Once a light cloud of steam began to rise above the clear, plastic door, she turned back to him, a sultry smile dancing across her lips. “Care to join me?”

A small, happy sigh escaped Fitz’s lips as he nodded, and she stepped aside before shutting the door behind him. It was a little crowded with the two of them, but this also meant that Jemma was forced backwards into the water to give him enough standing room, and, frankly, Fitz couldn’t think of anything he’d ever wanted to see more. The water poured over her skin, shining in the bathroom’s overhead light, and droplets fell off of the peaks of her nipples. Another surge of lust rushed to his cock, and he gave an appreciative groan as she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“So – God, so bloody hot, Jemma, I...” he let out a low chuckle, tracking her figure from head to toe. “Maybe it’s a good thing we aren’t going to have sex right now,” he tried joking, but he thought it was rather undermined by the way his eyes lingered over the apex of her thighs and the thickness of his voice.

She laughed quietly, reaching out to press her hand just beneath his collarbone. “Weren’t you in the middle of something?”

Inhaling, Fitz reached out to curl his hands around her waist, fingers slipping easily over her wet skin. “Yeah, but, first....” He leaned down to kiss her slowly, the warm water beating against his side as he tried to work away some of his nerves. Despite the potential thrumming in the space between them, he simply couldn’t get enough of kissing her, and he was content to just continue doing so as long as she’d let him. Although he held her close, letting his hands wander along her waist and up over her bare back, he made sure to keep his hips far enough away from hers to avoid any further temptation. Her tongue slicked into his mouth, seeking more heat than he’d been giving, and he could feel his arousal start to ratchet up again, if that was even possible at this point. Eventually, as their lips moved together he slid his hands up to cup the wet weight of her breasts, running both thumbs gently over her nipples.

Jemma released a shocked whimper against his mouth and arched upwards, pushing herself more firmly against him as he toyed with her breasts, carefully noting which movements made her squirm or distracted her from their kissing. A part of him thought that he could just stay like this all day, completely enthralled with both her reactions and the way she felt. His fervent interest in her breasts probably only further demonstrated his own inexperience, but he couldn’t care less, as he was far too fascinated by the way her flesh shifted under his hands, somehow both firm and soft at once. Why this particular part of her body was so bewitching he had absolutely no idea, but, frankly, as long as she allowed him access to her boobs he didn’t feel the need to parse it out.

Fitz was so invested in this particular cataloguing that he didn’t notice she’d abandoned her grip on his back until one hand wrapped firmly around his cock. A strangled groan worked its way out of his throat and his hips bucked forward, the pleasure of her small, soft hand gripping his sensitive skin immediately consuming the rest of his thoughts. It felt so good, in fact, that he had to move one hand to the plastic wall against which she was already leaning, although releasing one of her breasts did pain him.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered, releasing her lips in order to rest his forehead against the wall just above her. She was moving her hand in slow, full strokes, tightening her grip just so and sweeping her thumb over the head carefully enough to drive him crazy. Low groans eked out of his throat at every pass she made, unable to keep himself quiet. He pried his eyes open to stare down between them, his breath hitching at the sight. It was almost an out-of-body experience, watching the way her slim, pale fingers pumped up and down his shaft, the flushed head poking rhythmically out of her fist. Something about the wet shine to their skin made this look absolutely pornographic, and he didn’t miss the soft moan in her breathing over the shower’s consistent patter. To his stunned fascination, when he raised his eyes again she was watching her hand work over his cock with just as much aroused interest as he had been, and he shivered.

Catching his gaze, she drew her bottom lip between her teeth and looked down between them again. Once his eyes followed hers down, she gave a pointed twist of her wrist and his hips gave an involuntary jerk forward, that particular motion sending a delicious bolt of pleasure all the way through him. The grunt he released was low and heated, and he was sure she’d done that just to show him how close the tip of his cock was to her skin. Her other hand traveled just below his shaft to roll his testes in her hand and sparks popped behind his eyelids. He swore, eyes flying up to see her giving him a small siren smile, as if she knew exactly how she was making him feel. “J-Jemma,” he groaned, drinking in the darkened heat of her gaze and trying to focus on how her taut breast felt in his hand.  

Something she did with her forefingers along the back of his sack set him in to a brief shuddering fit, water trickling into his mouth as it dropped open and his brows knotted in pleasure. He had no idea how she was so good at this, and he no intention of ever asking, but he supposed it shouldn’t surprise him that Jemma Simmons excelled at turning him into a molten pool of arousal with just a few touches. At last, he had to remove his hand from her other breast to support himself against the wall, but this time he curled his arm around her shoulder and twisted his fingers into the wet strands of her hair.

“God, you – you – _unngh_ ,” Fitz broke off on another groan, because she’d abandoned his sack in favor of stroking both hands over his cock, making him feel like he was completely surrounded. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, her intense focus on the motion of her hands over him, and his eyes crossed as she sped up, that coil burning red hot inside of himself, and he inched even closer when he saw her lick her lips. The image of her moving her mouth down to join her hands flashed into his head and he squeezed his eyes shut with a gasp, his whole body practically singing at the idea. This was going to be over far too fast, he could tell already, but as it was he was still rather proud that he hadn’t come the second he saw her naked in the shower.

“I what, Fitz?” Jemma’s voice was breathy and lower than he’d ever heard it, and he knew now it was because she was turned on. Getting him off was turning her on, and that idea alone pushed him that much closer than the edge.

“You like this,” he rasped out, his hips bucking into her grip and his lips pressing wetly to her temple as the water rained down over them. Her hands slowed ever so slightly, drawing out the build of his release, and he bit back a whimper, desperate for her to finish him. The thought that he’d do anything she asked right now flitted into his mind as she tilted her head back to met his gaze, and he’d be damned glad for it, whatever it was.

“Oh yes,” she answered, tightening her grip in a teasing rhythm and watching the way his mouth bowed in desire, another gasp stuttering out of his throat. “Do _you_ like this, Fitzy? Letting me take over?” She increased the speed of her strokes and he could only answer with a choked whining noise, nodding frantically and wondering where the hell this version of his best friend had been all these years, with her low, sultry voice and confident, dexterous hands. The tension was building to a feverish level within him, and he wanted that release so fervently that he couldn’t wait anymore.

“I’m so – so – p-please, _Jemma_ ,” he begged, moaning her name as she did what he hadn’t even asked and sped up, his hips beginning to thrust forward in earnest. One of her hands twisted on the downstroke as the other tightened further and he let out a sharp cry of arousal, achingly close to coming.

“Look at me,” she commanded breathily, and he pried his eyes open to stare down at her, gaze flicking briefly to where the water slid in rivulets down her bare skin. Her hands were pumping his cock at a near-frantic speed now, and he could feel himself swell further. “Come.” The tone of her voice was almost identical to the way she used to order him around in their lab, and that did it for him, pleasure coursing through him as he let out an indistinct shout, jerking forward and coming hard into the space between them, low grunts punctuating his last thrusts. She continued to work her hands expertly along his shaft until he was spent and shivering at the sensation of her gripping his now-oversensitive skin.

Fitz all but collapsed against Jemma, forehead dropping to rest against the top of her head and arms loosely curled along her sides while he supported himself on the wall. As he panted, trying to regain his powers of speech, he was fairly certain his climax had never felt like that in his life – and this was just with her hands. The very idea of what it would be like to come inside her made him flat-out dizzy. 

Realizing after a few moments that speech was currently beyond him, Fitz nuzzled down to urge her wordlessly to tilt her face up towards him, and then pressed in for slow, sweet kisses. Hoping this would suffice for communicating for a while, a slow shiver of happiness worked through him at the pleased hum Jemma made against his lips. She broke away with a small smile, letting him continue to show his appreciation nonverbally as he nipped and licked his way down her impossibly long and graceful neck.

“You haven’t quaked at all this morning, you know,” she whispered, and Fitz chuckled, straightening up to brush wet strands of hair out of her eyes.

“It’s ‘cause I’m happy,” he murmured back, not having noticed it himself but being unsurprised once she pointed it out. “You make me so, so happy, Jemma.” 

“Yes, I can see that,” she teased, eyes flicking down over them both to the mess that hadn’t quite been removed by the shower’s continued stream.

“I’m sorry.” His ears burned faintly red as he twisted around to find the sea sponge Jemma used for her showers, squeezing a generous supply of soap on before turning back.

As he lifted her hand, Jemma let out a fond laugh, watching him as he sponged off first one arm and then the other. “It’s not like it was a surprise, Fitz, that’s sort of the expected result when –”

“Still,” he muttered, running the sponge down between her breasts to clean off the majority of the mess just barely clinging to her belly and hips. “Should’ve gotten the sponge sooner.”

“For God’s sake, stop criticizing yourself – you’ve been just perfect. In fact,” she allowed, mischief lighting up her eyes, “I might just have to do this every morning if I get my own personal bather out of the deal.”

He paused, realizing that he’d sort of continued smoothing the sponge up her back and thighs without realizing it – as much as he could reach without leaning over or turning her around – and then grinned, hanging it back up. “Happy to soap you up any day of the week, Jemma.”

The eye-roll she gave him was undermined by the small laugh that followed, and she reached over to raise the temperature of the cooling water. “Don’t suppose you want to shampoo my hair while you’re at it?”

Grabbing the bottle and flipping it around with his good hand, he held it out for her to inspect. “At your service.”

His eyes trailed down to her bum as she turned around, and he inhaled, letting himself admire her from behind as he lathered the shampoo up in his fingers. He’d been too distracted earlier to focus on much other than her boobs, and it didn’t take his brain long to wander from massaging shampoo into her hair to what it would be like to have sex in this position. Or on the bathroom counter. Or in her bed. Or on the couch. Or against the wall. Or by the lake. It was as if she’d opened a dam by inviting him into the shower with her, because now he could genuinely picture what she’d be like mid-coitus and, although his body was far from physically being ready to act on these impulses at the moment, his mind was already there.

Unaware of where his thoughts had taken him, Jemma hummed at the feeling of his fingers working through her hair and against her scalp. “That feels so lovely,” she murmured, swaying slightly in concert with his movements. 

Letting the water wash through her hair, he wondered how she could seem so relaxed now, when she’d clearly been so turned on not long prior but hadn’t gotten the same release he had. Jemma twisted around as the shampoo slid out of her hair, frowning as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “What’s wrong?”

Fitz shook his head, taking a moment to revel in the feeling of her whole body sliding wetly against his, noting the improbable amount of interest he felt twitching through his veins already. “I just... I want to... you know, for you again, Jemma, but... I’m....”

She studied him intently, shaking loose hair out of her eyes as the water ran unpredictably over her features. “You don’t _have_ to worry about me right now, Fitz. I’m a patient woman. But I also... I don’t think you need to worry about hurting me. You know now to be wary of your powers when you’re, um, otherwise focused.”

Releasing her, he grabbed a quick handful of shampoo and scrubbed it through his own curls. “I dunno....”

“I’m willing to try again if you are,” she murmured, combing her fingers through her wet hair as she watched him wash his own out. “We’ll be careful, and I’ll tell you if I feel anything that I’m not certain is _you_ -you.”

Just then, the water spluttered and became suddenly, blindingly cold, sending them both shrieking out of the stall. Fitz reached back in to turn it off but ducked right back out again, shivering and swearing loudly. Hysterical laughter bubbled up behind him, and he turned to see Jemma holding a towel to her front, doubled over as she struggled to breathe. The sound was so infectious that he couldn’t help but join in, grabbing his own towel as he did so.

“Well, that answers that,” she managed to squeeze out, scrubbing her hair dry and not noticing the way he’d gotten distracted by staring at her nakedness again.

“What?”

“How long our water heater can hold out.” She grinned up at him as she wrapped the towel around her like a dress, and Fitz carefully withheld his disappointment that he couldn’t look at her breasts anymore (for the moment).

“I can always take a look at it,” he answered thoughtfully, ducking quickly into his bedroom to grab a pair of clean boxers and jeans. “Maybe I could make a few improvements –”

“Oh no,” Jemma replied, grabbing his hand to tug him back into her bedroom. “I know you’re an expert, but we’re in the middle of bloody nowhere, and if something goes wrong I don’t want to have to camp in the woods until Coulson can send someone to fetch us.”

“It probably wouldn’t be that hard,” he mused, ignoring her concern as he buttoned up his jeans and thought about the possibility of daily, very, very long showers with Jemma. “I know there’s a proper toolbox somewhere, I could just –”

“Fitz.” When he looked over, he forgot how to breathe at the sight of her leaning against the edge of the bed. The towel was crumpled on the floor, her legs were crossed at the ankles, and her back was arched just enough to draw attention to her breasts – not that it mattered, because his gaze had been inexorably drawn back to them anyway. His cock gave a hopeful twitch in his trousers, and he inhaled. 

“Hnng?” He’d meant to ask a question, but somehow his voice hadn’t cooperated.

Jemma laughed, tilting her head to one side. “So, are we trying again, or would you rather just stand there?”

“Tough choice,” he murmured as he strode over to the bed. “But I think I’m gonna go with the one that lets me touch you again.” She giggled into his mouth as he slanted his lips over hers, and he was briefly very grateful that he was at least partially clothed right now.

Later, as they lay on her bed and Jemma’s whole body tightened before trembling in release against him, Fitz thanked everything that was holy that this time, there hadn’t been any evidence of his powers at all. Both of his hands drew out her pleasure as long as possible, one stroking within as two fingers circled her clit, and he was inordinately thrilled by the way she’d threaded one hand into his damp hair, crying out his name over and over again as if to remind them both who exactly was making her feel this way. Eventually, she pulled his hands away and just lay shivering over him, her legs still spread apart and breaths heaving out of her chest. Before she almost melted against him, she twisted their hands together, as if to keep him in contact with her as much as possible.

His eyes tracked eagerly over the way her naked body was draped against him, a light sheen of sweat making her skin glisten, and he couldn’t stop the swell of pride that he’d made her feel this way two days in a row. There was something undeniably appealing in the exhausted sprawl of her right now, in the idea of him having overwhelmed her with pleasure to the extent that she couldn’t yet move. Fitz removed one hand from hers to roam gently along her torso, enjoying the way she shivered slightly under his touch. Everything about her body fascinated him, and he had every intention of learning each inch of it as intimately as possible.

Jemma tilted her head to peer lazily up at him, and he couldn’t resist pressing gentle kisses to her mouth. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, continuing to stroke one hand up and down her stomach and trying very much not to blush at voicing his praise.

“Oh,” she breathed, pink blooming in her cheeks, evidently just as shy about hearing the compliment as he had been about saying it. Which was patently bizarre, considering her own continued nakedness and the fact that they’d just showered together. But their mutual awkwardness made Fitz even happier, somehow, and he let a slow, sweet smile spread across his face as he studied hers, sure that he’d never look at anyone else the way he did at Jemma.

 

\------

 

“Fitz,” Jemma giggled against his lips, the helmet sliding backward on her head as Fitz used the straps to tilt her chin up. “You’re just –”

“Gonna be completely distracted?” He brushed his nose against hers, unable to convince himself to break her gaze as he smiled down at her. They stood together by the water’s edge, nearby branches rustling in the breeze and the sun bathing the whole clearing in warmth. “Sounds like the right idea to me.” Despite her previous protest, when he sought out her lips again she stretched up into the kiss, fingers curling into the edges of his cardigan. 

The rest of their morning had been lazily spent, with brunch followed by what was theoretically reading but was mostly an excuse to stay curled together for as long as possible. Finally at the lake now, the last thing he wanted to do was separate from Jemma, let alone attempt to use the powers that he was so far from understanding.

“Come on,” she said at last, pulling away and reaching up to tighten the straps beneath her chin. “The sooner you finish practicing, the sooner you can go back to feeling me up –” 

“Hey,” he exclaimed, hands automatically migrating to his waist. “I’m not ‘ _feeling you up_ ’ –” 

“Oh.” Jemma settled on a nearby boulder, glancing slyly up from her clipboard and pen. “Well, that’s a shame.”

Mouth already open to defend himself, Fitz was stymied for a second, a grin matching hers spreading across his face. With three long strides he reached the boulder, her arm reaching around his waist as his hands cradled her face and he pressed in for sweet, addictive kisses. 

“Enough procrastinating,” she mumbled against his mouth, and he shook his head. 

“No, never.” As he was considering whipping off the infernal helmet that was keeping him from burying his hands in her hair the way he wanted to, she broke away from his lips again and shoved him firmly backwards.

“Self-restraint, Fitz –”

“Oh, _really_ ,” he drawled, watching her cheeks flush appealingly as she guessed where he was going. “Restraint, is it –” 

“That wasn’t –”

“When you press against a man first thing –”

“I wasn’t really awake,” she argued, face now distinctly pink and one hand curling around the back of her neck.

“Uh-huh.” Walking backwards toward where he’d be practicing, he gave her a wry grin.

“Shut up,” she muttered, turning her gaze firmly down to her notes.

“Like I’m complaining even a little,” he offered before rounding a small section of underbrush, smiling as she met his gaze. Once she’d nodded at him, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, he took a deep breath and turned to the lake.

Aiming his hands in the opposite direction of the cabin and Jemma, Fitz was unnerved to find that the buzzing in his chest roared up almost instantly. His first attempt sent the water itself rippling toward the opposite shore, and during the next one the ground beneath him roiled so rapidly that he almost couldn’t stay upright. With a quiet noise of annoyance, he counted to thirty, trying to ease the press of the otherness inside himself along with his own nerves. In recent afternoons, his powers had been almost stagnant when he tried to use them at will, so to have them be this easily called upon was unsettling.

After he was calm enough to try again, he tried sending a small earthquake toward a nearby gathering of plants, raising his hands carefully in front of himself and frowning in concentration. A large pulse burst out of his chest, sending him stumbling backwards as the whole lakeside lurched. The sound of Jemma’s scream nearly froze him where he stood, and the ground continued to tremble as he tried to run back towards her, slipping on the shaking earth.

“ _Jemma_!”

Before he could truly panic, he rounded the plant life that had separated them and saw her sitting up on the ground, helmet secure and clipboard flung off to the side. 

“I’m fine,” she said, letting him help her to her feet. “I wasn’t seated as securely as I’d thought, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Fitz breathed, resting his forehead against the helmet’s plastic. His hands smoothed up and down her arms, the ground’s shaking slowing as he calmed. “You’re okay.”

“I am.” Jemma gave him an encouraging smile, and then leaned up to brush their lips together. “Go on then, don’t worry about me.”

Her request was pointless after that, however, with his powers reacting violently and unpredictably for the rest of the afternoon. Control remained solidly out of his reach, and the sharp, bitter adrenaline he’d tasted as he’d rushed to Jemma’s aid never quite left him. No matter what Fitz did, his abilities either ignored him or were magnified far past what he wanted, and he almost pulled them back onto himself more than once. 

The contrast between the darkness of his mood once he finally called it quits for the day and when they’d first arrived at the lake was stark. He’d been so happy that morning he’d almost forgotten the inconsistencies of his powers – being allowed to love Jemma was wonderful, but it didn’t solve all of his problems. Even if he didn’t have to repress his feelings anymore, some essential key to understanding his abilities continued to elude him. And the longer he was incapable of controlling himself, the less likely it was that he would ever be able to return to his old life.

Fitz showered alone when they returned to the cabin and then flopped rather petulantly on the couch afterward, intending to read and stew quietly to himself. Jemma, however, had other plans, because as soon as he was seated she insinuated herself between his legs and curled up against his chest, rubbing her hand up and down his torso in a surprisingly soothing gesture. At first, he froze, anxiety about having nearly hurt her still roiling in his stomach.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, her breath warming his shirt and skin. “We were prepared, I had my helmet on and I’m _fine_.” Despite their distance of the past few months – or maybe because of it – she knew exactly what was bothering him without him having to say a word, and even if he was sick from worry something within him eased. She stretched up to press a kiss to his jaw and nuzzled in, almost cat-like, and he allowed himself to wrap one arm gently around her shoulders. “I love you,” she continued, and a hitched breath stuttered out of his throat. “And I’m not leaving. You’ll figure it out, I know you will.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Fitz pressed his forehead against her hair, trying to will himself to believe what she was saying. Jemma kept on in that vein for some time, allowing him to clutch her to himself as firmly as he needed, and inevitably her presence and quiet words of affection calmed him down. In some ways, it was reminiscent of when she’d used to help him work through a problem in the lab. Instead of using logic and science to point out why he didn’t need to worry, here she held him close and reminded him that she wasn’t breakable. (He knew differently, of course – she was more fragile now, next to a destructive force such as him, than she’d ever been.) Although her words were kind, they weren’t what helped him fully relax back onto the couch. The simple fact that she was still here, wanting to touch and hold him after he’d demonstrated yet again his horrifying inability to control his powers, made him breathe more easily. Maybe if Jemma believed that Fitz wasn’t a monster, he wouldn’t turn into one.

They sat together like that for a long time, past when the sun went down, just talking quietly and enjoying the privilege of being near each other without any outside pressures or concerns. Right now, figuring out Fitz’s abilities was their only priority, and in a way simply being together was a part of that. 

Neither of them consciously tried to bring sex back into the conversation, but, as is the case with many new couples, it worked its way back in anyway.

“I never knew that,” Fitz murmured, frowning at the too-casual little shrug Jemma gave in response, continuing to fiddle with his hands. She was curled halfway onto his lap and partially against the couch, with him leaning against the corner and angled towards her as much as possible. 

“It’s unfortunately common for women to not enjoy sex their first time,” she argued, but the way she’d focused on his hands rather than his face told Fitz just how discomfited she was by the memory. “It _was_ my choice, and although I suppose I regret the actual... you know, that it didn’t go well, I don’t regret knowing. Do you see what I mean?” Jemma peered up at him then, fingers tightening around his. “I wanted to know what sex was like, and there it was – I didn’t enjoy it. It was far easier to alleviate my own needs and not bother with boyfriends who wouldn’t be my intellectual equals.” She released a small smile. “I had you around for everything else, anyway.”

Fitz studied her expression, trying to figure out how to slot this new information in with the version of Jemma who had been so outspoken about wanting to have sex in her bed this morning. “You know,” he started slowly, carefully gauging her reaction, “if you don’t want to have sex, we don’t....”

“That’s not what I....” Dropping her gaze again, she exhaled, shaking her head. “I don’t know if you perhaps missed that this morning, Fitz, but I’m very interested in having sex with _you_.” 

Normally, that kind of statement would have made his mouth go completely dry, but he was too occupied with trying to work through her meaning. “But if you don’t _like_ –”

“I didn’t like it that one time,” she corrected him. “I was nineteen, and too preoccupied with the anatomy itself rather than the _reality_ of what sex is like with another person, and it hurt.” He winced at that, at the idea of someone causing her pain while she was so vulnerable, and she leaned forward to smooth her hand along his jaw, scratching fondly at his stubble with her thumb. “I’m not that naïve little girl anymore, and you are not a horny first year recruit.”

Fitz chuckled, cupping his hand over hers where it lay against his cheek. “Yeah, I’m a horny mutant engineer with a brain injury who has _also_ never had sex. What a catch.”

Anger flashed across her face briefly, but it melted immediately into that particular, soft look he’d started noticing only in the past couple of days. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met, and my best friend, and you’re,” she paused, laughing quietly, “for someone who’s never had sex, you’re staggeringly good at getting me off. I... honestly, I’ve been dreaming about us having sex for months, but I’ve never _wanted_ it more than I do now. Truly.” 

He flushed at her compliments, but he couldn’t help the little twist to his mouth; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue to lower her expectations about what sex might be like between them, or if he should make a bitter joke about how they may never be able to try it, thanks to his condition. Before he could say anything, she made a little _tsk_ noise and tugged gently at his hands to get him to look up at her. “Stop trying to think of ways to argue with me.”

“I was n–” Jemma raised an eyebrow and he chuckled. “Okay, maybe I was. I just – now I’m worried that I’m gonna be pressuring you to do something you don’t –” 

“Fitz,” she interrupted sharply, using both hands to angle his face toward hers. “Do you want me to describe precisely how I’ve fantasized about having you inside me?” He made a small choking noise, but she continued, eyes boring into his. “Or tell you how close I was to begging you to just take me from behind in bed this morning? How much I wanted you to just rip my clothes off and f–”

“No,” Fitz wheezed, “no, alright, fine, I get it, no more arguing!” His voice was embarrassingly high-pitched, his cheeks burned, and he was completely incapable of understanding how she managed to just sit smugly back and continue tracing her fingers over his hand after putting those images in his head.

“Good.” As she waited for him to catch his breath, she studied his face, her mouth settling into a thin line. “That’s why I never told you about it, honestly –”

“Because you didn’t want me to think you... weren’t interested in having sex with me...?” The ridiculousness of that statement, considering the nature of their relationship until last year, brought him back from the unproductive train of thought of what it would feel like to _be_ inside of her, and she made a small scoff.

“No, you dolt. I knew you’d be upset that I wasn’t... that you’d think I’d been actually hurt. I didn’t want you to be an idiot and go after him or something.” Knowing that he’d get scolded again if he made a comment to the affirmative, Fitz just grumbled in response. “It’s the only time I was ever tempted to talk to you about, you know –” She waved her hand between them. “That sort of thing.”

Letting her spread apart his fingers, he chuckled. “Yeah, you couldn’t’ve paid me to bring up sex or dating at all until... y’know.” 

Her hand went still over his. “The pod.”

Fitz cut his eyes to her and then down again, focusing instead on the pleasant tingles spreading out from where she touched him. “Yeah. Wouldn’t’ve ever said anything if I didn’t think I was about to die.” His voice was light, trying to make a joke, but the inhale of breath Jemma took before closing her eyes tightly told him immediately that he hadn’t succeeded. “Hey, I – sorry, I didn’t –”

“It’s fine,” she cut him off, tone clipped. “I’m just – I’m not ready to joke about that.”

“Sorry,” he said again, feeling discomfited by the rapid turnaround her mood had taken at the mere mention of the incident.

A long silence fell between them, with Fitz waiting for Jemma to let him know when they could go back to speaking. She was taking measured breaths, smoothing her fingers firmly over first his palm and then the back of his hand, as if she was reassuring herself of his presence. Part of him wanted to shift closer, to wrap his arms around her and kiss her until she smiled against his lips, but most of him didn’t want to remove his hand from hers if that’s where she wanted it to be.

“You know,” she said eventually, voice back to sounding more-or-less normal, “I’m really developing something of an obsession with your hands.” The laugh that burst out of him was loud and incredulous, and when he looked back at her, she just shrugged somewhat shyly. “I’d never really paid them much attention before.”

“And now you know how I can use them?” Fitz waggled his eyebrows and she gave him a light shove, laughing prettily as she did so.

“Tease me if you want, but honestly, they’re very aesthetically pleasing.” She pulled him closer so that she could hold his left hand up in front of her more easily, tracing her fingers lightly over his skin. “They’re quite broad and strong, although the latter I knew to be the case because of your work. It’s obvious your bone structure lends to their dexterity, and –” Jemma glanced over at where he was trying not to laugh and rolled her eyes. “And they’re just very well formed. That’s all.” Deeply amused, he just hummed in assent and she shook her head, a light flush working into her cheeks. 

“Too bad,” he said in feigned nonchalance, watching her carefully even as he pretended not to. “I’d been thinking about asking if I could, um, go down on you tonight, but maybe if you prefer –”

The choked gasp Jemma let out interrupted him, and once she’d regained her composure she turned to stare, wide-eyed, at him. “What? _Really_? You’d... you’d want to...?” 

Smirking at the idea that he’d get to tease her now as she had done to him a few minutes ago, Fitz leaned forward, darting his tongue out to wet his lips and drawing her gaze. “To use my mouth on you? Yeah, I’ve, uh, wondered.”

“Oh,” she squeaked, her breath coming in quick pants and unable to look away from his mouth.

Suddenly, the air between them was charged as it hadn’t been before. Flirting had never been Fitz’s forte – or something he _ever_ even consciously attempted – so to see Jemma react so strongly to teasing that was more forthright was an acute thrill. Maybe he wasn’t totally useless in the romance department. Or maybe it was just Jemma, and honestly he rather preferred the latter explanation. He hadn’t originally planned on going much farther in teasing her than that, but the dazed and hungry look on her face made him feel bolder, and he pushed aside his instinctive discomfort with talking about things of this nature.

“Especially after that first night. It was so... Christ, so hot when you came, I wanted to know what it would feel like to... um, have you come apart under my tongue. To know... what you taste like....” Their faces were only inches apart, and he felt her shiver. “D’you want me to keep going?” Nodding rapidly, Jemma didn’t say anything, her gaze instead flickering avidly between his eyes and his mouth as he spoke, and he let his voice dip slightly lower. “I want to put my mouth all over you, your boobs, your – your clit, everywhere. I want to feel you underneath me, hear you scream my name –” 

“Fitz,” Jemma breathed, stretching forward as he leaned back just enough to keep them separated. 

“D’you want that, too, Jemma?” He nuzzled against her cheek, not letting his lips truly make contact with her skin other than the barest of brushes, and she shivered again, a low whimper working its way out as she spoke. 

“Yes, _please_....” 

Her voice sent a jolt of lust straight through him, and he bit back a groan, not having expected her to be so willing to ask for what she wanted. “What? Please what?”

“I want you to make –”

A loud knock came from the front door and they both shrieked, scrambling off the couch.

“Did Coulson –”

“No,” she whispered, striding quickly over to the ICERs and ammunition. “The Playground hasn’t contacted us all day.” She frowned, handed him the loaded ICER, and then reached for her own. “Actually, that’s odd – usually the lab checks in with me....”

Fitz swore, and the ground gave a sudden lurch beneath them. “Sorry,” he muttered, but a low-level tremble continued throughout the cabin as they approached the front door together, guns raised. Once Jemma was in position behind him, he swung open the door to see a tall man smiling benignly down at them. But unlike most men, there was only skin where there should be eyes – not even sockets to suggest he had ever had eyes to begin with.

“Hello Leo,” the man said, voice deep in a pleasant sort of way. “I’m Gordon. May I come in?”


	8. Are your hands shaking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [Stay With You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULVuy9VCr1E) by the Goo Goo Dolls.

Fitz gripped his ICER more firmly, torn between unwilling to trust the strange man in front of him and yet also feeling instinctively that he meant them no harm. A few seconds passed, the only noise Jemma shifting on the creaky wooden floor behind him.

“You really won’t need those,” Gordon said benignly, clasping his hands in front of him. “I’m not here to hurt you – although I’m surprised that SHIELD sent you here with a babysitter.”

More questions popped into Fitz’s head, but of course he blurted out the least important of them. “You can see?”

“Not the way that you do. But I can see that you are afraid,” he answered, stepping into the cabin and reaching around to pull the door closed. “You don’t need to be, not with me.”

“Who are you? How d’you know my name?” Reflexes on high alert, Fitz watched the other man as he ambled into the middle of the room, seemingly observing his surroundings despite his lack of sight. Both Fitz and Jemma turned with Gordon’s movements, keeping their ICERs trained on him, although Fitz noticed her grip waver slightly.

“I’m like you, and I’ve come here as a friend. We keep an eye on the Kree temple,” he explained, plopping down in the middle of the sofa, long legs stretching far underneath the coffee table. “I can’t imagine how it must have felt... to go through your transformation without any understanding of what to expect.” Gordon shook his head, his eyeless expression hard to read but suggesting empathy. “I had years to prepare and still – I was horrified by what I became. Granted, I was younger.” He tilted his head, unnervingly able to follow their progress as they moved to stand in front of him, ICERs still raised. “Are you going to introduce me to your guard?” 

“I’m not his guard,” Jemma interrupted, pistol tilting downward in her indignation.

Chuckling, Gordon raised a placating hand. “Obviously not – you’re at least five inches shorter than him. That was a joke. I’m not very good at them.”

Another silence permeated the room, and Fitz realized that Gordon was staring (was that expectantly? It was hard to tell without eyebrows) at him.

“This is Dr. Jemma Simmons. She’s....” _Oh crap_. As if their relationship hadn’t been complicated enough prior to the past few days, it was probably not the time to ask her what they _were_ to each other now.

“His girlfriend,” Jemma completed for him smoothly, reaching over to press her hand over his and lower his ICER as she had just done hers. Distracted from the warmth that bloomed in his chest at her classification of their relationship, he gave her an incredulous look. “I believe him,” she whispered, tucking her pistol into the back of her trousers. “Don’t you?” 

Although she was right, Fitz wasn’t ready to let down his guard yet. “Yeah, well, I felt that way about Ward, once, too,” he muttered back, following her lead nonetheless and taking a seat across from Gordon. But rather than putting his ICER away as she had, he placed it on the coffee table, handle towards himself and safety off.

“Interesting weapons,” Gordon said mildly, and as Jemma leaned eagerly forward Fitz realized what might have been the ulterior motive behind her apparent relaxation. 

“Is it some form of radar? Your sight, does it manifest in images or do you –”

“Jemma,” Fitz warned, eyeing the other man where he sat, completely unphased.

“It’s alright,” Gordon said, giving them a mild smile. “But I prefer not to be picked apart on the first date.” Silence reigned again, and he shrugged. “That was a joke, too. I should probably just stop trying. No, I can’t see at all, but yes, I used to have eyes – they were blue.” Jemma wormed one hand into Fitz’s hand where it lay on his thigh, and he gave her a tight smile. “This was the obvious change for me,” Gordon added, waving one hand at his face. “What happens inside can be just as profound.”

“Yeah, I don’t need to be lectured on the profundity of inner change, thanks very much,” Fitz said drily. The snappish comeback was out of his mouth before he’d thought it through, and earned him a rebuking squeeze from Jemma’s hand.

After a moment, Gordon leaned forward, almost as if to make eye contact. “What does it feel like? Your gift.”

“I dunno.” Fitz frowned, trying to find words for the strange newness inside of himself, this odd, invisible extra limb. “Um... it’s really... intense. Like – a thousand bees are trapped inside me, and I feel it all the time. It’s always there.” Pausing, he stretched his hands out in front of himself, noting the newly bruiseless skin. “I can’t make it stop.”

“Why would you want to stop it?”

Fitz let out a mirthless bark of laughter, staring incredulously at Gordon before answering. “‘Cause I destroy everything around me.”

“Fitz,” Jemma said automatically, closing her hand more tightly around his forearm. “You don’t....”

“That’s simply not true,” Gordon interrupted. “Every object in this universe gives off a vibration, did you know that?” 

He felt Jemma’s wince rather than saw it, and she managed to begin speaking a millisecond before he did. “Well, that’s not how I would describe it –”

“Things don’t _exactly_ vibrate all the time –” 

“Because it’s not at all accurate –”

“They have a particular frequency –”

“But we understand your point.” 

“We do?” Fitz tilted his head in her direction, and she gave him a pointed eyebrow raise. “Oh, right, we do.” 

Although his expression was still effectively neutral, Gordon’s voice seemed a little more strained than it had before. Fitz was struck with the sudden thought that Gordon seemed to have thought that he would find him alone up here, and then wondered if that had been guesswork or if he was familiar with SHIELD’s policies towards powered people. After all, Coulon’s original plan – until Jemma’s intervention – had been leave Fitz here alone.

“I believe that your gift is to tap into those vibrations.”

Jemma let out a small gasp, her fingers digging a little too tightly into his wrist. “Oh, _Fitz_! Vibrations! That explains –” Then her mouth snapped shut and her cheeks turned bright pink.

It took him a second to follow her train of thought, but when he did it was nearly impossible for him not to laugh. The last time they had spoken about the nature of his abilities had been last night, after Jemma had perfunctorily debunked his theory that he’d been given earthquake powers. And her reasoning for such a conclusion was certainly not one to be shared with someone they’d only just met – or, really, anyone else at all.

Gordon tilted his head in such a way that suggested he was studying the two of them, even if he couldn’t be. “What?”

“Um,” Jemma squeaked and then cleared her throat. “N-nothing, just – a conversation we had. Not important.” Stifling a chortle by pretending to cough and clear his throat, Fitz squeezed her hand.

“The point is, Leo,” Gordon said, trying to get back to the thread of conversation, “you shouldn’t want to stop your abilities. You could become magnificent –” 

“Fitz. No one uses my first name.” 

“Right. I’m sorry, Fitz.” Gordon sat forward, pressing one hand onto the couch cushion next to him and leaning briefly on the gloves, which he then picked up. “What are these?”

“They’re, um... they’re inhibitors,” Fitz ventured cautiously, giving Jemma a wary look. “I’ve been losing control a lot, and we –” 

“Ah. SHIELD.” Gordon tossed the gloves onto the table as if they burned. “That’s why you’re here,” he directed at Jemma, the criticism thinly veiled, “under their orders.” 

“I’m here to help him,” she retorted, bristling. 

“You know, they’re probably why you’ve been losing control. That kind of device, constraining your energy because she wants to control you –” 

“I don’t want to control him!” 

“I don’t wear them all the time –”

“And they’ve been helping him _heal_ , his ‘abilities’ hurt him very badly –” 

“And we designed them together,” Fitz finished, talking over Jemma. “I’m an engineer, I’ve worked on them just as much as Jemma has.” Exhaling, he leaned forward, pretending that he could make eye contact just so that this conversation would feel the slightest bit normal. “You’ve gotten used to your powers, and that’s great for you, but when I tried to control them on my own... they turned back on me. They _hurt_ me. They’re not just abilities, they’re destructive.”

Gordon let out a thoughtful hum. “Most gifts come with a price – but you could learn to manage it.” Silence stretched between the three of them as Fitz tried to think of a way to explain to this man that he had no idea how to _manage_ anything about his abilities, no matter how hard he tried.

“I’m sorry,” Gordon said abruptly, catching them off-guard as he stood from the sofa. “I’m saying too much.” Scrambling up after him, Fitz had the wild thought that he wasn’t ready for him to leave despite his distrust of the man – he still had so many questions. “This...” Gordon trailed off, glancing sightlessly in Jemma’s direction as she followed Fitz. “This is probably not the best place to continue our conversation. You don’t have the tools or the understanding that you need just yet. Once you do... you’ll become who you were always meant to be.”

“Then why wasn’t I born this way?!” Fitz couldn’t help the exasperation in his voice, hands flying instinctively out to the side in frustration. “You clearly like that whole destiny thing, but I believe in working towards the person you want to be – and it doesn’t seem like this,” he gestured to his chest, “is something I was _meant_ to be if it took an alien rock to bring it out.”

“Give it time,” Gordon said with an infuriatingly calm smile. “Wait until you understand your abilities. You’ll be able to live without fear, without pain. We can offer that to you.”

_Without fear or pain_. Fitz wondered if they knew how to take the powers away – surely if they understood them as well as this man implied, then they would have a way to make them stop. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“People like us,” he replied, and Fitz couldn’t help but notice his pointed avoidance of Jemma. “Different from the humans.”

“How many are there?” Jemma took a step forward as she asked, but Gordon turned away from her and continued towards the door.

“You can learn about yourself, Fitz – about your gift. You can be safe. But only if you wanna come.” Adjusting his jacket, Gordon pulled the door open. “When you’re ready, I’ll find you.”

The only connection Fitz had to possibly fixing himself for good, or at the very least understanding himself, was rapidly pulling out of his grasp. “How will you find –”

“Trust me,” Gordon said, “I’ll know.” Then he closed the door. 

By the time Fitz skidded across the floor to yank it open again, there was nothing outside the cabin other than a strong breeze. He swore, smacking his hand against the wood as Jemma peered around the frame. The man had disappeared almost as suddenly as he’d come, leaving Fitz feeling more confused and disgruntled than he had in days. Just as he’d settled into being ignorant of his powers, the veil had been halfway parted by Gordon – but that simply wasn’t enough. 

“D’you think I should go after him?”

Sighing, Jemma shook her head and turned back inside. “Not at night – we don’t actually know where we are, there could be wild animals out there, and we don’t know his ability. It could hide him somehow unless he wants to be found.” Fitz groaned and reached around to shut and lock the door. “I’m sorry – you must be disappointed.”

With a few short steps, she was close enough to hesitantly curl her hand around his while he leaned back against the door. The expression on her face was full of concern, and he exhaled. “It’s not – not that, exactly. I’ve got a lot to think about, y’know?”

“Would you like some space?”

He was shaking his head before she finished speaking, and she smiled as he tugged her up against him. The blended fabric of her navy cardigan was soft and familiar under his hands, and the feeling of her leaning forward against him was new but just as comforting. Her eyes reflected the dim lighting in the room as she watched him, waiting to follow his lead, and he couldn’t resist the pull of her mouth. Letting the door take much of his weight, he sunk a little so that she could fit her lips better against his, his legs bracketing hers and her hands reaching up under the back of his shirt. Fitz knew he was using Jemma to avoid thinking about everything he’d just learned, and about the implicit decision he had to make, but he suspected she knew that – and if she minded, she’d tell him. The sigh she made as he worked over her lips with his own made him feel an unusual combination of arousal and comfort, and he had the brief, ludicrous thought that maybe they could stay in this cabin together forever. Maybe if it were just the two of them, things would be okay.

After a couple of minutes, Jemma pulled away, giving him a pleased hum as she slid one hand up his chest. “How do you feel about dinner?” 

“Excellent,” he answered rather too quickly, and she laughed, disentangling herself from him to head over to the kitchen. Watching him follow her out of the corner of her eye, she grabbed a dirty glass he’d left on the counter earlier and moved to the sink.

“What would you like? I was thinking maybe something high in iron, protein, to give you....”

Although he’d never tell her this (she’d tease him forever about – for once – not prioritizing his stomach), Fitz faded out as she spoke about options for food. As she twisted the faucet on to wash the glass, he drifted back to what Gordon had said about his abilities. The theory about vibrations made a lot of sense, although there was still a piece of the puzzle missing. He didn’t know this for certain, of course, but as he prodded the wave of otherness in his chest he could tell he still wasn’t quite doing something right. That didn’t deter him, however, from focusing on the stream of water as it washed over Jemma’s hands.

At first, nothing happened, but then the stream arced away from the path upon which gravity should have forced it, circling around until it formed a loose spiral down to the base of the sink. Jemma gasped, dropping the sponge and turning to stare at Fitz, although he couldn’t see her because his vision had blurred out. He wasn’t controlling the water, not really, although he had both hands held out in front of him where he leaned on the counter. There was something else inside him that knew where the water molecules should go, and although he couldn’t quite understand it yet, Fitz somehow knew that it was meant to ease his fears. As if the power within himself was saying hello for the first time, telling him that not everything they did would be horrifying. That someday, maybe, they _could_ be magnificent. 

“Fitz,” Jemma breathed, and as he blinked away his tears he was floored by the expression she wore. For the first time, Fitz was sure that what he was seeing love reflected there – pride and awe, too, but under that was a light that he’d never seen in her eyes before. She was here and she _loved_ him, and he’d never felt more grateful. 

Swiping one hand over the errant tears that had escaped, he turned his gaze back to the water, which was still shimmering in easy loops down to the stainless steel. Focusing hard and stretching his right hand forward, he was able to separate a tendril of water from the main stream and curve it into a childish, five-petal flower. The shape wavered a little, not as easy to maintain as the simple swirl, but it held nonetheless.

She followed his eye-line and one hand flew automatically up to her neck. “Oh!” Something shaky hovered around her eyes when she turned back to him, and he gave her a tremulous smile in return. _This is for you_ , he was trying to say. _Everything’s for you_. 

A blink was all it took for Jemma to come flying around the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room, gracelessly flinging her arms around his neck as tightly as she could. The water made a quiet splash as it fell to the sink, his concentration gone, but Fitz couldn’t care less, and he pulled her up so that she was barely standing on the floor at all. He hunched down over her, burying his face in her neck and trying to hold back the flood of relief that was threatening to break loose from his chest.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jemma murmured against his neck. “That was _astounding_.” The hitch of breath that escaped him belied the fragile self-control he had at the moment, and she reached up to scratch her fingers gently through the hair along the back of his head. “How are you feeling? Was that tiring? Can I get you anything?” She listed the questions off into his neck, difficult to understand, but enough got through that he was able to shake his head in response.

Straightening and holding back a hiccup, Fitz cleared his throat, keeping his hands linked behind her shoulders. “No, I’m – it felt fine. It’s, um, it’s quiet. In here,” he added moving one hand to gesture at his chest. “Like nothing happened.” 

“Amazing,” she murmured, reaching up to caress his cheek. A crisp beeping sounded from his trouser pocket, signaling an incoming call, and he separated from her to answer it. “I’ll have a hundred questions for you over dinner,” she teased, returning to the kitchen as he swiped a finger across the screen.

“Hi May,” he said, feeling reassured by the contact picture that had popped up with her number. “We just realized we hadn’t heard from the base all day, I’m glad –” 

“You need to get out of there, now.” 

The hair on the back of Fitz’s neck stood straight up, as if an electrical current had just run down his spine, and he shot Jemma a worried glance from where she’d just collected a saucepan. Clicking the speakerphone option, his brows drew together as he replied. “What? Why? What’s going on?”

The older agent’s voice was clipped, a low level of interference interrupting what should have been a clear signal, and something about her tone had him reaching for his jacket before she finished speaking. “There’s a panel on the southwest corner of the compound, it’ll let you bring down the laser grid fence.” 

“May,” Jemma interjected, watching as Fitz grabbed and tossed over her own jacket, “please, what –”

“You can do this, both of you,” she returned, “I believe in you. But you need to run _now_ – they’re coming for Fitz.”

At that, Jemma grabbed for a few key pages of his most recent test results and strode directly to the door. Instead of following her, however, panic began to settle unpleasantly in Fitz’s chest, and his brain spun as he reached for an explanation for what was going on. “Who – who’s coming for me?!”

“SHIELD.” Then May’s voice cut out as an EMP took out all of the electronics and lights in the cabin. 

“Fitz, come _on_!” Jemma stood in the doorway, hand reaching back for him as he stared at her. A searchlight flickered over the nearby forest and he finally forced himself to move, leaping forward to grab her hand and then both of them sprinted away from the cabin as fast as they could. 

Helicopters whirred above them, blades blowing the tree branches like a series of mini-tornados, and Fitz could feel the buzzing in his chest fill his ears. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he pulled Jemma after him, avoiding fallen limbs and rocks as best they could in the darkness.

Out of the shadows appeared a soldier in full tactical gear, complete with helmet and automatic weapons – and a bright white SHIELD eagle emblazoned on his Kevlar. Fitz felt like he’d just been yanked into the past, when a year ago they’d been unable to tell friend from foe just by their labels, and in that millisecond of an impression the guard had time to raise his rifle and yell out a warning. The blow Jemma landed to the man’s jugular caught them all by surprise, and with a few inelegant kicks and punches, she’d managed to shove him backwards and force him to drop his weapon. He stumbled over a tree root and went down, helmet cracking on a nearby stone or tree trunk, and then was still. 

“Holy shit,” Fitz breathed, staring wide-eyed at his best friend.

“I’ll explain later.” Jemma grabbed his hand and he ran after her, trying to stay underneath the shelter of the trees as much as possible.

They both stumbled to a stop at the edge of the clearing next to the lake, and Fitz bent his head to look at the compass function on his watch – they needed to head southwest to get to that panel, even if it took them out of cover. The loud crunching of two sets of footsteps through the opposite tree line echoed across the clearing, and Jemma gasped at the sight. Before he could look up, she pushed him out of the way at the same time that a new voice screamed towards them.

 

“No – _Fitz!_ ”

Bobbi’s face twisted in terror as he met her eyes, both wincing at the shot that rang out not far from where she stood. The shooter was someone Fitz didn’t recognize, with hard eyes and a buzz-cut, and – since she’d shoved him aside – Jemma was the target.

An enormous wave pulsed out from Fitz’s chest as he held out his hands, either to stop the bullet or reach for Jemma, and time in the clearing slowed to a crawl. Either because she was too close to him or because he was aiming around her (Fitz couldn’t tell), the force wave avoided Jemma, only causing her hair to whip around her face. But with a large whoosh, Fitz’s powers flew in an arc across the clearing and into the trees, knocking over Bobbi, the mysterious agent, and half the forest behind them. Wood creaked and groaned as the trees bent, moonlit branches waving frantically as they crashed into each other and onto the dirt beneath. As soon as his powers had been released he knew he’d gone too far, and he tried desperately to reign them in again, pulling rapidly within before he realized the damage that he would cause himself.

Once the snapping wood and splashing waves quieted, Fitz stared at the half-moon he’d blown into the forest, leveling the trees and destruction circling out from where he stood. Pain shot from his hands into his chest, and he raised his arms to see the blood bruises forming yet again in the aftermath of his clumsy attempt to prevent his panic from hurting others. Jemma reached for him as he stumbled back, letting out a sharp cry of horror, and he realized that he still needed help. For once, he and Jemma alone were not enough, and one small water-daisy was not enough to prove that he was safe. The flattened wildlife around him, in fact, proved that he was anything but.

“Gordon,” Fitz gasped, reaching around Jemma’s waist to steady himself as agony ripped through his chest and arms. “ _Help_.” 

Blackness began to fade into the edges of his vision, and his fingers tightened around Jemma just as an azure and violet flash surrounded them. Another surge of pain swelled through his bones, then, and Fitz passed out.

 

\------

 

His dreams were shadowy and halting, familiar faces filing past and then snapping suddenly away. Sometimes, he thought he heard Jemma screaming. But when Fitz awoke, his first feeling was less that of fear – and more of flat-out confusion. 

The room in which he lay was bathed in warm, soft light, and the table beneath him was padded. When he lifted his head, he realized that he wasn’t wearing clothes – other than a towel draped all too loosely over his hips – and a collection of acupuncture needles were stuck into the skin of his torso, arms, and legs. Small zaps of electricity twisted from their tips and into his skin, and although it didn’t hurt per se, he was struck with the horrified realization that he couldn’t move any of his limbs. As he peered around the room, he was jolted with something else just as unpleasant as not being able to move: Jemma was nowhere in sight.

A door at the corner of the room slid smoothly open to reveal Gordon, whose relaxed demeanor just put Fitz on higher alert. “Hey, you’re –”

“Where’s Jemma? Where are we?” His voice caught on his dry throat, and Gordon replied as he tried to clear it.

“This is the place I told you about.” He spread his arms wide, a wry smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Although this room’s a bit small.” 

“Where’s Jemma?” Gordon shifted his gaze away, and Fitz tried futilely to sit up. “What did you do with her?!”

“She shouldn’t be here,” he answered at last. “She’s not one of us.”

“She belongs with me!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Fitz did a small double take, vaguely discomfited by the assumption inherent in his own words. “I’ll leave if you don’t bring her here, right now –” 

“You’re healing,” came a new voice from the doorway, and a lanky man with blond hair and scruff strode into the room with a half-smile. “Leaving now wouldn’t exactly be – you ever made microwave popcorn?” Fitz wanted to make a dry remark about how he’d actually never made popcorn because he lived in bloody Antarctica, but the man continued before he could. “Leave it in too long, it’s charcoal. Take it out too soon and it’s a bag of kernels.” Gordon scoffed and the other man made a small grimace, picking up a medical chart and flipping open the cover. “Okay, that _might_ be the worst analogy ever –”

“If you don’t bring her here, I’ll shake the whole damned building down.” Fitz looked between the two other men, who had fallen silent. “You know I can do it. I want to see Jemma. I want to know that she’s okay.”

Gordon gave the younger man a wry look and then stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Making notes on his clipboard, the new man chuckled and glanced over to where Fitz had half-settled back onto his pillow. “I’m Lincoln, by the way – hi. I’m your transitioner. And you should probably know that you can’t actually use your gifts when....” 

Shouting echoed down the hallway outside of the room, and with a start of relief Fitz realized it was coming from Jemma. 

“ _Are you even listening to me? He’s not well_ ,” snapped her muffled voice, “ _he needs a doctor, and I’ve been monitoring his condition so I’m the best person to administer his care! Did you know that he’s allergic to ibuprofen?_ ” The door to his room slid open and she barreled through in front of Gordon, not yet having taken in her new surroundings. “Or shall I list my degrees again?” As she opened her mouth to continue arguing, her eyes fell on Fitz, who gave her a relieved smile. “Oh!” She ran over to him, arms outstretched as if she was going to give him a hug – until she spotted the needles, and settled for grabbing his right arm rather more tightly than he would’ve liked. “Thank God – are you okay? What....” Her words trailed off as she studied his prone position on the table. “What are they doing to you?” Behind her, Gordon raised five fingers towards Lincoln and then backed out of the room.

“These treatments will help his body adjust properly to the change,” Lincoln piped up with a brief smile, and she whipped around to see him set his clipboard aside. “Transitioning him quickly and painlessly.” He chuckled. “I hope. We usually like to start the process right after the mist, but –”

“Is that electricity?” Jemma had stopped listening to him, and pulled up a chair so that she could peer more closely at the needles sticking out of Fitz’s torso. “Using acupuncture to inhibit the powers... I was trying to replicate something like this, but –”

“It’s not just electricity,” Lincoln started, but she sat up and turned towards him, her mind already a million questions ahead.

“What are your qualifications?”

Scratching one hand through his stubble, he glanced between Fitz and the tiny bundle of indignation currently interrogating him. “What?”

“Your degrees,” she clarified impatiently. “I’m assuming that you’re an M.D., but do you have a Ph.D as well? What’s your specialty?”

“How long will this take?” They both turned to look at Fitz, who’d made the split-second decision to forestall Jemma’s line of questioning in favor of something he considered more pressing. “The transition. When can I leave?” 

Grinning, Lincoln crossed his arms over his chest. “Why, you got places to go, people to see?”

“Our friends,” he said, looking to Jemma for her agreement. “Something went wrong, that’s why SHIELD came to the cabin. They might need our help –”

“Your help?” Lincoln’s voice was incredulous. “Leo, you were being hunted.” 

“No one calls me Leo,” he muttered.

“I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding –” Jemma interrupted, but Lincoln spoke over her. 

“I mean, I wasn’t there, but – weren’t people coming after you? That’s why you needed to defend yourself, why you got hurt.” 

“Yes,” she said, curling her fingers more tightly around Fitz’s wrist where it lay on the table, limp. “But something _must_ have happened – the person who shot at him wasn’t one of our friends –” 

“Someone shot at you.” Lincoln was looking at the two of them like they’d just grown an extra head each. “And you really wanna go back?”

“Bobbi sounded upset. There’s clearly something else going on.” She turned to Fitz for support, and he was already nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, and May – our other friend. She called to warn me right before it happened. She sounded _scared_.”

Jemma pursed her lips, replaying the phone call in her head. “She did, didn’t she?”

“I know,” Fitz murmured, trying to reach for her hand but being stymied again by the strange needles. “What if they need us?”

“You _really_ shouldn’t leave right after this is finished.” Having dropped his objections for the moment, Lincoln picked up the chart – almost as if to prove his medical worthiness to Jemma, who was still eyeing him suspiciously. “You’ve got another day in here with the needles, and then you’ll be pretty weak for a few days. We like to keep you under observation –”

“So how’re you different from SHIELD, then, exactly?” Fitz couldn’t help the smugness he felt at Lincoln’s wounded expression, and the impressed eyebrow raise Jemma gave him made him feel positively weightless (aside from still being physically incapable of movement, anyway).

“It’s for your own good,” Lincoln retorted, looking discomfited. “Besides, while you’re here you can practice using your powers without worrying about other consequences –”

“Other than hurting anyone who’s  _here_!”

Lincoln grinned at Fitz’s concern, and he glowered in response. “We’re kind of a stalwart bunch, although it’s cute that you’re worried about people you’ve never met – and don’t seem to want to like a whole lot.” Jemma bit back a chuckle and Fitz shot her a look. “Really though, not much phases us. We’re used to doing pretty comprehensive fire drills.”

Then the other man winked at Fitz, and he was suddenly aware that he was naked (except for his towel) in front of a complete stranger. He fought the urge to cover up, particularly because he – as he reminded himself for the hundredth time – was still incapable of independent movement.

Groaning, he thunked his head back against his pillow. “And when can I move again? This –”

“Kinda sucks,” Lincoln interrupted, effectively being as infuriatingly charming as possible. “Yeah, I know. But you’ve gotta stay there until the treatment’s done tomorrow night. It’ll help, I promise.” With a thin smile, he started backing towards the door. “Now, you guys have a few minutes before Gordon comes to get you –”

“Get me?”

“Get Jemma for what?” Fitz was immediately on edge again, only slightly comforted by the fact that her fingers tightened around his arm, as if she intended to hold on until they dragged her from him.

Lincoln looked distinctly uncomfortable at that, not-quite meeting either of their gazes when he spoke. “To, um, to take you home –” 

“I’m not going anywhere without Fitz.” 

“Yeah, and I’m not staying if she leaves.” Noting the weariness around the other man’s reaction to them, Fitz decided to try a different tactic. “Why can’t she stay with me? You said you wanted to keep me around for a few days, to heal and practice or whatever, so why can’t she stay, too?” 

“Humans aren’t allowed here,” Lincoln countered quietly. “Not unless they’re planning on transitioning. People who can’t... just aren’t allowed.” 

“Allowed by whom?” Jemma peered at the other man – who Fitz had just belatedly realized probably had powers of his own – studying him as he’d seen her do to Coulson many times since Skye’s shooting.

“The Elders. This place has been a secret for thousands of years, and your transition, L-Fitz, at the temple with the Diviner... that has a lot of people worried that we’re not gonna stay secret for much longer. They’re our system of governance, kinda.”

Fitz briefly considered making a Monty Python joke, but thought better of it. “Can I talk to them? Can I ask them if Jemma can stay?”

“I mean no one here any harm,” she added quietly. “I just want to help Fitz.” 

Lincoln’s gaze flitted down to the death grip she had on Fitz’s arm, and released a small puff of air. “I’ll see if Gordon can ask. I don’t have access to them – I’m just a meager med student.”

“You’re still a _student_?!” Incredulity was not enough to describe the horror-laden tone of Jemma’s voice, and Lincoln seemed to realize that he’d said too much.

“I’ll be back to check on you in a couple of hours,” he said to Fitz over Jemma’s head, and then slid the door shut before she could stammer out any further objections.

“Can you _believe_ that?” Fitz was about to agree, but Jemma barreled on over him. “He doesn’t even have his degree! These people didn’t even send a proper doctor to –”

“Jemma,” he interrupted, realizing that he’d need to halt her rant before she got herself fully worked up. “Priorities?”

Her mouth gaped open for a second, and then she exhaled, turning to fully face him. “Yes, right. Sorry. But how do we know that he’s actually helping you?” She waved a hand over the needles on his chest, and he turned to stare up at the ceiling, a twist crinkling the corner of his mouth. “We don’t even know what they’re doing!” 

“I guess we just have to trust ‘em,” he answered slowly, trying to sound surer about that course of action than he felt. “Until they take these damn needles out, and we can leave.”

Silence settled between them for a few seconds, until Jemma leaned farther over the table so she could meet his eyes. “Are you sure we should?”

“Well – y-yeah. What about the team? You agreed with me, what happened tonight –” 

“Last night.”

“Last night – wait, how long was I... no, right, later. Last night wasn’t normal. Something bad happened, and we have to tell them that we got out –”

“But....” She looked uncertain, lips pursed and fingers tightening slightly around his arm. “If we go back with you still healing from the transition, and your abilities....”

“They’ll still be in danger ‘cause of me,” he finished, picking up her thought and squeezing his eyes shut. “ _Fuck_. Maybe you should go with Gordon, Jemma, they might –”

“I’m not leaving.” Her response was sharp, almost a reprimand, and he tried not to wince at the way she’d unconsciously dug her fingernails into his arm. Then she paused, and a pained frown passed over her features as she relinquished her grip on him. “Unless – unless you’d prefer it if I left, which I would –”

“Jemma,” he interrupted, the softness of his voice bringing her eyes up to meet his. “I’d never... never _want_ you to leave. That’s not... things are always better with you,” he muttered, breaking her gaze. “Clearer. I just... I want you to do... y’know, what you want....” Fitz cleared his throat, knowing that his ears were almost certainly bright red. The embarrassment he felt now was irrational, he knew that, because she couldn’t know that he’d once confessed something very similar to a version of her that didn’t exist.

“If you want me here,” she answered, a swallow interrupting her words and bringing his gaze back to hers. Her eyes were a shade past watery, and she entwined their fingers together as she continued, the cool skin of her palm pressing tightly to his much warmer one, limp though it was. “If you want me here, and I want to be here, then that’s exactly where I’m going to stay.” Jemma leaned down to press a brief, chaste kiss to his lips, carefully avoiding the needles as she straightened and sat back down. Tilting his head to see her better, Fitz realized that he was smiling, and he thought briefly that only she and Skye ever knew how to make him smile without him realizing it. Although in Jemma’s case, she’d been managing it for almost a decade, and he still didn’t know how. 

“Assuming we _can_ trust these people,” she said after a pause, her voice lightening as she clearly tried to look on the bright side, “just think about the good it could do you, Fitz! They could teach you –” 

“Or cure me.”

She exhaled, pursing her lips. “Fitz....”

“I know, I know,” he muttered, dropping his gaze. “Probably not.”

“You told me once that you were different now, and that I had to accept that,” she reminded him gently, and he tried not to cringe at the memory of that particular fight. “I did eventually, then and now, but I’m not sure you have.”

“It’ll be easier when I’m not worried that I’m gonna kill everyone I care about the next time I have a nightmare.” For maybe the first time when it came to emotions, though, he knew Jemma was right. “Okay,” he heaved in a sigh, “we’ll stay. S’long as we can stay together.” The smile she gave him as she settled more comfortably into her chair was soft and relieved, and Fitz allowed himself to drift into wondering what on earth he was going to do while stuck on this table for the next twenty-four hours. At least he had Jemma.

 

\------

 

Despite them having each other for company, by the time Lincoln removed the needles the next day both Fitz and Jemma were bored to tears. (The room didn’t have any form of entertainment except for a couple of old People magazines, and there were only so many times they could recite the chemical components of common and uncommon compounds or rehash old scientific debates from the Academy.) Much to both their relief, though, the treatment seemed to have worked, and even the blood bruises that had reappeared on Fitz’s arms in the forest were gone. Even though he was extremely tired, for the first time in days Fitz didn’t feel like he was teetering on the brink of total physical collapse, and the ever-present buzzing in his chest was relatively quiet.

Having promised that food would be awaiting them at their room, Lincoln lead them out of the building, which actually looked more like a spa hut than a medical wing. 

“I don’t think they liked it,” he said, walking backwards through the twisty, tree-lined paths, “but Gordon said the Elders agreed to let you stay –”

“Oh _thank_ you,” Jemma breathed, clasping Fitz’s hand. He smiled back at her, watching the way her eyes shone in excitement. It amazed him that something as simple as being allowed to stay by his side had made her so happy.

“Don’t think it was outta kindness – they’re worried about the damage you’d do if you went off on your own now.” Lincoln tried to say this nicely, but his own wariness crept through nonetheless.

“I don’t blame them,” Fitz muttered, letting Jemma squeeze his hand in comfort. 

“Try to stay with Fitz, though, okay?” 

“You seriously think she can’t defend herself?”

“No,” Lincoln said, tone sharp. “I think that a lot of people here don’t trust any humans at all, and she doesn’t have any abilities to protect herself with if they get angry.” Slowing his pace, he sighed and scrubbed one hand through his hair. “The people here... they’re just like everyone else. They make bad decisions when they’re scared.”

“And you honestly think they’d be afraid of _me_?” Jemma gestured vaguely at her height, and Fitz smartly withheld a comment about how she hadn’t ever had the pleasure of arguing with herself. 

“Yeah.” The simplicity of Lincoln’s answer reminded Fitz that this wasn’t just some health retreat – this was a whole community of people who were terrified of being locked away. Just like he was. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence lay between them, and then Lincoln gave them a half-smile before bringing his pace back up. “Gordon went back to the cabin and grabbed a coupla bags of clothes for you guys – he didn’t have time to get much because SHIELD was crawling all over the place, but it should hold you while you’re here.”

“He didn’t grab any of Fitz’s medical files, did he? I lost the few pages I could grab in the forest.” The hopeful edge to Jemma’s voice made Fitz grin, and he shook his head in amusement.

By contrast, Lincoln’s expression darkened and he turned to walk facing forward. “Safe to assume he didn’t. We’re a little sensitive to being examined like that, here –”

She let out a frustrated noise, looking over to Fitz for support. “As his doctor! They’re the same kind of files you were making notes on!”

“He did bring me those gloves, though,” Lincoln said smoothly, not even trying to hide the change of subject. “The ones you made?” He whistled, glancing back at them as he turned a sharp corner. “The inhibiting pulses they emit seriously hindered Fitz’s transition process – that’s why he needed to be under the needles for so long.”

“Y’know, _I_ suggested that design –”

“Fitz,” she murmured, giving his forearm a quick squeeze to quiet his instinctive defense of her. “Lincoln’s right to point that out. I was working from an incorrect set of assumptions about your biology, which was incredibly foolish –”

“We didn’t know any better,” Fitz insisted, refusing to let her shoulder the blame for his slow recovery.

Jemma exhaled, giving him a fond smile. “I know. And maybe....” Trailing off, she sped up with a couple of quick hops so that she was walking in stride with Lincoln. “To avoid that happening again, would you mind teaching me what I was missing?” 

He gave her a sidelong glance. “I’m not exactly an expert on Inhuman biology....”

“Inhuman?” Fitz raised an eyebrow when Lincoln turned briefly around.

“That’s what we call ourselves – we’re different, but we all started out as humans, so... Inhumans it is.”

“I don’t need you to be an expert,” Jemma barreled on, undeterred by Lincoln’s cool reception to the idea. “Even if you’re still a student, you’re clearly well-versed enough in both human and Inhuman care for you to transition someone without a supervisor.” Reaching the edge of a small square, Jemma reached out to his arm, stopping them and staring imploringly up at him. “Please, Lincoln – I just want to be able to give Fitz the care he needs.”

The smile Lincoln gave her seemed almost in spite of himself, and he let out a small chuckle as he proceeded through the square. “You’re a hard person to say no to, Jemma Simmons.”

“She knows,” Fitz teased, earning him an affectionate swat from her, and he ducked down to sneak a quick peck to her cheek. Her skin flushed prettily in the sunlight, and he marveled again at how easy it was to be like this with Jemma; he could barely remember now what he’d been so terrified of when he’d first realized his feelings all those months ago. (Aside from the obvious fear of rejection, of course – and a healthy dose of his awe now was that she seemed to enjoy this just as much as he did.)

There were scant people on the pathways they’d been walking, and Fitz found himself somewhat distracted by the beauty surrounding them. The paths were lined with lush greenery, and although he may not dabble in botany as a hobby like a certain biochemist, he could still tell that they were likely nowhere on either American or European soil.

“So, are you gonna tell us anything about this place? Or is that off-limits, too?” His words came out sounding a little testier than he’d intended, but he was still peeved about them not wanting Jemma wandering around on her own.

Lincoln laughed again. “The official name is Chinese, I think – _Lai Shi_. But that doesn’t translate well into English, apparently, so we just call it Afterlife.”

Fitz frowned, pushing an unruly frond out of the way. “Afterlife? Isn’t that a bit....”

“Ominous,” Jemma finished for him, and he nodded in assent.

The other man raised an eyebrow, hooking his thumbs in his jeans and falling into step with them as the path widened. “Never bothered me.” 

“So we’re in China then,” Jemma mused, clearly having noticed the local flora just as Fitz had. 

“No idea.” They turned to him in unison, and he just shrugged. “Gordon’s the only way in or out – no one actually knows where we are. It keeps us safe from the outside world.” 

“Or it keeps us prisoners,” Fitz retorted, earning him another dry look as Lincoln slowed to a stop outside of a red-washed cottage.

“You’re not very trusting, are you?”

“I woke up naked on a table with a bunch of glowing needles stuck in my skin,” he deadpanned, ignoring the little _tsk_ Jemma let out. “So yeah, I’m not exactly ready to trust you.” 

“Well, you weren’t totally naked,” Lincoln said, smirking.

“Right, yeah, a towel, that’s loads –”

“And it was a good look on you.” Then Lincoln winked, and Fitz flushed, staring wide-eyed at where Jemma stifled a giggle behind her hand. “And _you_ asked Gordon to bring you here,” Lincoln reminded him. “It’s not a bad place to be – keep an open mind. I’ll meet you tomorrow morning for our first practice sesh.” 

Then, after nodding goodbye at Jemma, Lincoln disappeared around the corner of the squat building. Frowning after his transitioner, Fitz pushed aside his confusion and instead focused on his consternation that he now felt like he had even _more_ unanswered questions. After a moment, he turned to follow Jemma, who had already ventured through the unlocked door.

The room looked a lot like one of those luxury hotel cabin-suites Fitz had seen artfully displayed in a hundred television commercials. A king-sized bed was the centerpiece, with a small sitting area and dining table to the side, all of the decorations accented with hues of crimson. True to Lincoln’s promise, a silver, heat-safe bag sat on the table, accompanied by plastic utensils and bottled water. Fitz’s duffel and Jemma’s navy roller bag sat at the end of the bed, and the whole room smelled oddly of sandalwood. Having assessed all of this a few seconds ahead of Fitz, Jemma was busy unlatching the wall-wide window shades, and she stepped back with a gasp as she revealed their view. Beyond the fringe of greenery beneath the ledge was a wide, fertile valley; the snowy mountain behind was dyed a soft, rosy orange in the light of the fading sun.

“Oh, Fitz,” she breathed, and he quickly finished locking the door behind him before padding over to her. “Isn’t it beautiful?” He hummed his ascent, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling against her temple. Being able to hold her like this sent a giddy thrill through him, and a smile teased at his lips as he pressed gentle kisses along the side of her face. All of his questions of just moments before flew from his head; the only thing he cared about now was Jemma. 

A small laugh worked its way out of her throat, and she leaned back into him. “You know, that was the perfect opening for you to compliment me. Would have been romantic and everything.”

In the midst of kissing her neck, he let out a cross between a snort and a chuckle. “Sorry, was distracted by wanting to kiss you.” A thought flitted into his head and his ears warmed. Shifting them both so they were face to face and his hands were linked across her back, he cleared his throat. “Um, so – we never... when you introduced yourself to Gordon....”

Understanding bloomed on her face, and she shuffled slightly closer, pressing one hand over his heart. “As your girlfriend.” 

“Is that... t-true? I, um,” he had to clear his throat again, nerves ringing through his veins despite the fond smile she wore. “I’d understand if that was just to, y’know, make things easier, but, uh... I’d like that. If you were my girlfriend.”

Jemma grinned, and instead of answering she stretched up to fit their lips together. The kiss was slow and sweet, and he followed blindly after her when she dropped back onto the floor. 

“I’d very much like to be your girlfriend,” she murmured, tilting her head to let him rest his forehead against hers. The amber sunlight made her skin almost appear to glow, and the way she looked at him made his breath catch in his throat. “If you would like to be my boyfriend...?”

Fitz frowned, lifting back slightly. “Isn’t that the same...?” She arched an eyebrow at him, and he remembered her having just accused him of missing a romantic moment. “Right, never mind,” he said, giving his head a brief shake. “Yeah, I’d really like that. Being your boyfriend.” 

Their lips met again, mouths parting and tongues meeting, her stretching onto her tiptoes and him holding her as tightly against himself as he dared. After less than a handful of days of being together like this they found their rhythm easily, fitting together like their bodies had just been waiting for permission. It wasn’t until the sunset’s light had slid completely out of the room again that they parted from each others’ lips once more, both breathing heavily and using the other to support their weight. As Fitz took a minute to admire how pretty she looked despite her having spent the prior night sleeping in a chair, he was reminded of the fact that he hadn’t showered in over a day – and after the previous night’s panic, he probably needed one.

Extricating himself from her arms, he pressed a quick kiss to Jemma’s cheek and turned towards his duffle. “D’you mind waiting for me to shower before we eat?”

She made a little noise of assent, reaching down to pull her shoes and socks off in his peripheral vision. “Do you mind if I join you in the shower?” 

Hands halting over the zipper, he inhaled into a sharp cough, sitting forward on his knees so that he didn’t keel over. The smile she wore when he stared up at her was shadowed, a halo of the sun’s last rays circling her hair, and his mouth went dry as he watched her hands drift to the buttons of her shirt. 

“Not at all,” he answered hoarsely. He’d intended to search for his pajamas, and to see what Gordon had managed to grab in general, but he found himself frozen in place, hands resting on the still-closed zipper as he watched Jemma pluck open her shirt button by button.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Her voice was teasing, and he swallowed, trying to force himself to be less obviously thrilled that he was about to see her naked again. 

“Just wondering how good Afterlife’s water heaters are.” 

Jemma burst into laughter, eyes squeezing shut and the two halves of her shirt falling open as she bent over at the waist. Although he’d seen her laugh since they’d first arrived at the lakeside cabin, Fitz was struck again by how much freer she seemed away from SHIELD. It was possible the change in their relationship helped, but he couldn’t help but wonder how unhappy she’d been to not have laughed like this in so long. Had he really been the cause of it? 

“Come here,” she said through breathless giggles, waving her hands until he stood and stepped into her space. Curling her hands around his neck, Jemma breathed into the laughter to try to slow its pace. Fitz slid his hands up the back of her now-loose blouse, smiling widely at the mirth in her eyes and feeling ludicrously pleased that he’d managed to put it there. Once she’d caught her breath, she pressed in for more kisses, arching into him and grinning against his lips.

“I’m so fond of you,” Jemma muttered against his mouth, an errant giggle periodically interrupting their kisses. Considering that all they had to entertain themselves tonight was each other, Fitz thought that their time at Afterlife was getting off to a fantastic start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this (yeesh, mega-long) chapter! 
> 
> Unfortunately, this will be the last update for three weeks - until January 13th. I've got a lot of holiday things to which I must attend, and then I'll be traveling for a while as well. Once the semester starts again I'll go back to posting regularly, and I don't intend or expect to have any further breaks in posting until the whole thing's out there!
> 
> I'm really sorry for the delay - there's no helping it, I'm afraid - but hopefully the length of this chapter (and what's to come) will make up for it somewhat. 
> 
> Happy holidays!


	9. Are your fears breaking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [Don't Look Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQEKH4r2Dbw) by Martin Guerrix (feat. Usher).

When Fitz awoke the next morning, he was greeted by the sight of Jemma’s head pillowed on his chest, and he started the day off with a wide smile. Her hair was in complete disarray, one hand lying over his ribs and the other arm stretched gracelessly out to the side, and even though he couldn’t see all of her he was pretty sure that this was one of his new favorite sights in the world. After her boobs, anyway. He sighed happily, smoothing one hand down her cotton-clad back and remembering how much time he’d been allowed to spend lavishing her breasts with attention the night before. First before the shower, then in the shower, then when they were making out on the sofa, then after she’d come, and then again briefly before bed. One day he’d probably stop counting how many times he got to see and touch Jemma’s breasts, but today was not that day.

Jemma yawned, stretching against him and then nuzzling into his t-shirt. “You’re hard,” she muttered accusatorily, and he let out a low snort. “Makes it much more difficult to resist things.” He could feel her hand tense against his torso, as if she was about to move it, and he reached down to tangle their fingers together before she could do so.

“It’s morning. And you’re not exactly making _things_ easier to resist either you know,” he retorted, an amused fondness to his voice, before snaking one hand down to curve over her arse. “Too hot for pajama trousers, hm?” 

“You put off an extraordinary amount of body heat,” she said haughtily, but this was rather undermined by her tilting her head to press slow kisses along his collarbone. Fitz inhaled, letting his eyes slip closed.

“I never want to wake up alone again,” he groaned quietly, and she stilled against him. When she didn’t move, he pried his eyes open, surprised to see her staring at him with a somewhat watery smile.

“I don’t want you to, either.” 

The double meaning of his words struck him, and with a small puff of air he reached down to pull her up, gently sliding their lips together. Eventually they broke apart, although he didn’t move for a few moments longer, stroking his fingers through her hair and unwilling to move his eyes from hers. Their rich brown shone in the morning light that seeped through the shades’ cracks, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her look so relaxed.

“Alright, I really don't wanna move, but....”

“We don’t exactly know when Lincoln will be here,” she finished for him, leaning down for one last brusque kiss and then twisting herself out of the bed.

Getting ready for the day didn’t take them long, and Lincoln showed up not long after they’d appeased Fitz’s stomach monster (with fruit that he spent five minutes insisting was definitely wax). The transitioner seemed to know his audience, however, since he came bearing what he swore up-and-down were the best donuts in Cincinnati. Once Fitz had made his way through half the box – to Jemma’s loudly-vocalized simultaneous amusement and disgust – they set off through the paths of the village, following Lincoln as he made small-talk with Jemma about his medical program.

Unlike the evening before, the pathways were far more crowded as people went about their morning routines, and with the increase in population Fitz felt significantly less at ease. It seemed that every time he turned a corner people were staring at him, and he had to fight not to hunch over and keep his eyes trained on the ground like he once would have at the Academy. 

Noticing his consternation, Jemma reached over and pulled his hand into both of hers, giving him an encouraging half-smile. “They’re staring at me, Fitz,” she murmured, ducking the unfriendly gaze of a couple walking in the opposite direction. “Not you.”

“Actually, they’re probably staring at both of you.” Lincoln gave them a small shrug when they turned to him. “The way you transformed, Fitz – that was old school. With a Diviner in a Kree temple? No one’s undergone terragenesis like that in thousands of years. The people here all carry the genetic marker, but most of them are still waiting to be chosen.”

“So you track the genetic marker?” The wheels in Fitz’s head began to turn, and he chose to ignore the bizarre notion that anyone sane would actually _want_ to go through the experience that he’d had. “You know everyone who has it?” 

“Not everyone,” Lincoln acknowledged, giving a half-wave to someone on the other side of the clearing. “I don’t exactly know how the Elders find them, but sometimes they lose track. Not every descendent is found, and not everyone who is chooses to come.”

“That explains why no one ever came to find you,” Jemma murmured, tugging lightly on his hand as they rounded a corner.

“Was my dad ever here? Peter Fitz?”

They approached a red archway, carved with clouds that stretched out to the side, and Lincoln slowed, squinting in thought. “Not that I know of,” he said slowly, “I mean, I don’t recognize the name. But I didn’t transition that long ago, you know, your dad could’ve been here decades before me. I’ll ask Gordon, though – see if he recognizes it.”

“Thanks,” Fitz said with a brusque nod. Searching for the whereabouts of his absent father had long since lost any appeal for him, but now that he was faced with the idea of learning the man's true identity (and if he had powers anything like Fitz’s) he couldn’t stop the small thrill of excitement that zinged through his chest. What if there was someone exactly like him out there somewhere? Had his dad been horrified, too? Could he teach Fitz anything about using his abilities? Why did he leave?

Once the three of them strode through the archway, Lincoln led the way into a grassy clearing near the edge of the mountainside. Out here Fitz could see the entire valley, from the isolated, tiny dots of human dwellings, to the spidery river veins creeping between the mountains, to the faint glimmer of snow along the highest, craggy peaks. Next to him, Jemma exhaled a quiet “wow,” and he nodded dumbly in agreement. They’d seen some amazing places during their months on the Bus, but this was a particularly peaceful form of spectacular. 

“So, tell me about your gift.”

It took Fitz a couple of seconds to figure out that Lincoln had been talking to him, and then he let out a small scoff. “ _Gift_ – feels more like a curse.”

Nodding, Lincoln shoved his hands into his pockets and turned his gaze out to the surrounding vista. “A lot of us feel that way at first. They’re not the easiest gifts – but you’ll learn to control it.”

“I don’t want to control it,” Fitz burst out, abruptly frustrated by the Inhuman’s unflappable demeanor. “I want to get rid of it!” The exclamation hung between them, and Lincoln turned back to him with an unreadable expression. A familiar hand slid into his, and Fitz squeezed it back, taking strength from Jemma’s presence. “That’s why I called Gordon. I – I can't stop myself from hurting people, hurting myself, and I thought if this place was dedicated to people like me... there’d be a way to fix me.”

Jemma’s fingers tightened pointedly around his, but he chose not to look at her. The part of him that had just adjusted to his post-brain injury self rebelled at the idea, but most of him desperately wanted to return to his new normal. And to be able to explore his new relationship with Jemma without being constantly terrified that he was going to hurt her.

Lincoln broke his gaze, letting out a slow exhale and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Fitz – I thought Gordon would’ve told you....” He looked up then, grey irises almost translucent in the sunlight and a distinct sort of pity hanging around his mouth. “The transition’s irreversible.”

“No, Gordon didn’t bloody tell me anything,” Fitz snapped, trying to tamp down the vague sense of panic that began to swell in his chest. “He just said I wasn’t ready to know more yet and vanished.” 

A small laugh reverberated out of Lincoln’s throat. “Yeah, that... sounds like Gord-o.”

“Irreversible,” Fitz repeated, unable to keep the quiver out of his voice.

“That’s why they make people wait for so long before they transition here,” Lincoln explained. “They need to be sure they’re ready.” 

A weighted pause expanded between them, and Fitz stepped quickly away, taking deep breaths and trying to abate the sheer horror and disappointment that rose to the back of his throat. Shoes scuffed over dirt and fallen branches, and then Jemma was at his side again. A breath stuttered from his throat, and she raised a tentative hand to smooth up his back.

“You were right,” he muttered, relieved that the otherness in his chest continued to be even-keeled despite his palpable upset. “Shouldn’t’ve hoped for it.”

Instead of answering, she stepped closer and slid one hand up to cup his cheek, forcing his wavering gaze down towards her. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned this year,” she murmured, eyes dark with regret, “it’s that people don’t need fixing. They just need help. And you... oh, Fitz, I don’t want you any other way than you are. Right now, right here. Okay?” 

A low breath hitched in his throat, and he gave her a slight nod. It was too soon for him to totally trust her declaration yet, but the fact that she was willing to say those things at all calmed him exponentially. Even if he didn’t always know exactly how she would react, not anymore, he knew that she had never been one for empty words. Pulling herself up by his shoulders, Jemma gave him a brief kiss on the cheek, far more chaste than anything they’d shared last night and yet somehow still sweeter.

As they traversed the few steps back to the other man, Lincoln kept his eyes studiously turned in the opposite direction. Upon hearing their footsteps, however, he half-turned, a small smile on his face.

“Alright, let’s talk about gifts –” 

“There’s that word again,” Fitz returned, an undisguised note of bitterness in his voice. 

Lincoln just grinned wider and then reached forward. “Take my hand.”

Glancing between the proffered hand and the other man’s amused expression, Fitz crossed his arms. “Excuse me?”

“I know,” Lincoln chuckled, turning his palm up, “but just roll with it, okay? It’ll be easier for me to show you.”

 _I didn’t have the courage to tell you_. Fitz recoiled, breath catching in his lungs as his own words echoed through his head. _So please – let me show you_. Blinking rapidly, he shook his head, seeing Jemma turn worriedly towards him in his peripheral vision.

“Somehow,” he retorted, just barely managing an appropriately dry tone, “I doubt your power needs you to hold hands with me for it to work.”

Not noticing Fitz’s internal flash of panic, Lincoln rolled his eyes and angled himself towards Jemma instead. “Jemma. You strike me as someone generally more curious than untrusting.” He cut his eyes over to Fitz, who was abruptly distracted from his far more reasonable flashback. Jealousy bloomed in his chest as Jemma gave an exasperated sigh and took Lincoln’s hand. “Now I see why you need to be around him all the time,” he deadpanned. “Grouch translator.”

“It’s a tough job,” she said, eyes sparkling as they met Fitz’s, “but someone has to do it.”

The fondly annoyed look she’d been giving Fitz disappeared, she let out a small gasp, and he just barely caught the blue spark that curled around the back of her hand. A few more tendrils of what appeared to be some sort of electricity twisted in between her and Lincoln’s entwined fingers, and he gave her hand a small squeeze.

“When I came out of the mist,” he explained, “every cell in my body had a different electrical charge. Felt like I was burning from the inside out.” To his own surprise, Fitz felt a lurch of empathy for the other man – similarly, he’d felt like he was on the edge of an explosion or implosion virtually every second since the rock had crumbled off of his skin. “But I learned to manipulate the charges – concentrate them. Even transfer them onto something else. Like static electricity.”

Despite his (almost definitely unfair) consternation at seeing Jemma holding the hand of a man who far surpassed him in terms of conventional attractiveness, Fitz found himself intrigued. His feet inched forward of their own accord, taking him close enough that he could peer at their hands, looking for further signs of Lincoln’s powers.

“Oh,” Jemma breathed, staring down at their clasped hands, “that’s really... that’s quite something.” Distracted yet again from trying to observe Lincoln’s powers at work, Fitz glanced up, noting her quickened breath. “I can feel it moving through my body...!” 

Another surge of jealousy worked through Fitz’s chest, and he took a few steps back, crossing his arms and trying to convince himself that he was being sophomoric. Just because the flush in her cheeks made her look suspiciously like she had last night while they were making out _didn’t_ mean that she was interested in Lincoln, or that she was attracted to him. No matter how well-coiffed his hair was. After all, Fitz had seen her turn that expression on a hundred experiments in the lab – she was excited, not _excited_.

Then steady tendrils of blue light lifted Jemma’s feet off the ground, and all of Fitz’s attempts at logic-ing himself out of pettiness ceased at once. She laughed, hair twisting over her features in the breeze, and he wanted to be the one to make her feel that carefree, wanted to be the one to put that expression on her face. Even though a part of him was just relieved to see her so joyful, as she hadn’t been for months back at the Playground, a more selfish part of him felt somewhat bitter that he hadn’t been the cause. When Lincoln walked her in a circle, her head floating just higher than his, Fitz just frowned further at the wink he sent his way. 

Wobbling a little as Lincoln set her down again, Jemma let out another breathless giggle and turned her gaze on Fitz. “Oh, you should really try that, Fitz! It’s _astounding_.”

“I’m alright,” he muttered, trying not to fixate on thinking up ways to outdo Lincoln when he and Jemma were alone again. 

“Our gifts don’t _have_ to be terrifying,” Lincoln said, drawing Fitz’s attention back to him. “They’re a part of us. I felt lost before I came here, too. Looking for answers in all the wrong places. But here... we’re connected to something extraordinary. Be open to it.” 

Feeling cowed, Fitz gave the other man a small shrug, but was almost immediately distracted again by Jemma reaching over to give his hand a small squeeze. He stared down at where her fingers interlocked with his, and was faintly embarrassed by how much better the small gesture made him feel. 

“So, Gordon thinks you might be able to learn to sense the frequencies of every object around you –”

“I thought you didn’t know what my power was,” Fitz interrupted, raising an eyebrow at the other man.

Lincoln inhaled into a half-smile, turning his palms up. “I was hoping you’d feel comfortable enough to tell me on your own. And he told me ‘cause there’s something sorta similar about our gifts – we sense something in the world around us and seek to manipulate it. If you concentrate, you might be able to resonate with the objects’ natural frequencies –”

“Thereby just moving what you want to!” Releasing Fitz’s hand to clap hers together, Jemma turned excitedly back to Lincoln. “Oh, that makes perfect sense, Lincoln.”

“It does?” Fitz couldn’t help but spin through all the ways that his scientific background proved what they were discussing impossible.

“At least _she’s_ excited,” Lincoln said drily, throwing Fitz a wry look.

Jemma gave him a sharp poke in the side, and Fitz squirmed away. “Concentrate,” Fitz mused, studiously ignoring the blush that threatened at the back of his neck. “On what?”

“Sensing the frequencies.”

Fitz stared mutely at the expectant looks on both Lincoln’s and Jemma’s faces.

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”

A flash of the kind of machine he could make to do something similar passed through his head, and he almost rolled his eyes at _himself_. His engineering degrees – for possibly the first time ever – were of no use to him here.

“I dunno, man,” Lincoln laughed, having the decency to at least look sheepish. “I’m not the one with the gift.” After a few seconds, he turned and crouched swiftly down to pick up a palm-sized rock. “Here, start with this.”

Gingerly plucking the rock from Lincoln’s hand, Fitz gave him a dry look. “You want me... to _sense_ this rock. I feel like I’ve walked into a kid’s morning program.” But he curled his fingers around the stone anyway, settling his trainers firmly on the ground and closing his eyes. Having cut out that other sense, a dull roar echoed up inside his head – it wasn’t a sound, because he knew he wasn’t experiencing it through his ears, but it held the same giantness of an impression. A breath caught in his throat.

Grinning, Lincoln rolled back on his heels. “The rock have something interesting to say?”

Fitz shook his head vehemently, ignoring the teasing and opening his eyes wide to glance from Jemma back to Lincoln. “Not the rock – the mountain. It’s the loudest thing here.” The smile Jemma wore now was so ecstatic that it bordered on tearful, and warmth spread through his chest, her excitement too infectious to ignore.

“Now that you can hear it –”

“Hearing’s not exactly –” Fitz started, but Lincoln continued over him.

“See if you can amplify that frequency.”

His mouth dropped open. “Are you – _insane_?! You want me to mess around with the frequency of an entire ruddy mountain?!”

Chuckling, Lincoln turned to look over the vista at the subject at hand. “You’re still pretty new at this, Fitz – I’m not that worried about you being able to do too much damage to the mountain.” Fitz rolled his eyes, but Lincoln continued. “Afterlife’s pretty disaster-proof by its nature, and....” He reached out to take Jemma’s hand again, and Fitz’s eyes narrowed. “I’m here to make sure nothing happens to either of you. Okay? We’re out here for you to practice.”

Having run out of excuses, Fitz turned to Jemma, trying to ascertain if she had any doubts and only reading reassurance on her face. She gave him a brief smile and a nod, her nose crinkling in that endearing way she had, and he exhaled. A few, shuffled steps took him closer to the edge of the cliff near which they stood, and he squinted at the mountain, trying to decide if he should attempt to pick apart the layers of vibration within the stone or if he should simply go for it. Lest his nerves bubble to the surface, he decided to stop over-thinking his actions, and as he squeezed his eyes shut he held his hands forward. A vicious little voice in his head taunted him for trying to look like a superhero in front of Jemma, but he pushed it aside to pay attention to the noise of the mountain.

The truth was that holding his hands out made him feel like he had some modicum of control over the untamed storm roiling within his chest, yearning to get out, and he’d happily take even the illusion of stability. Finally, he found the thread of the mountain’s frequency, rumbling over the smaller vibrations of the soil and grass on its surface. Tentatively, Fitz sent back a wave of what he hoped was the same pattern, and as the force pushed away from him he cracked his eyes open. Much to his astonishment, the mountain gave a definitive shudder, a small clump of snow washing down from the apex. Fitz lost his concentration in his surprise, the threads of vibration slipping out of his grasp, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Disbelief was etched on his every feature until he felt Jemma grab onto his arm with both hands, and he glanced down to see her smiling from ear-to-ear. “Fitz,” she said, voice unsteady in her excitement, “you just caused an _avalanche_! That’s fantastic!” At last, an answering smile spread across his face, and he was just about to lean over and kiss her thoroughly when a chuckle disturbed the peace.

Fitz cut his eyes over to Lincoln and tried not to feel too perturbed that the moment had been broken. “What?”

“It’s just....” Lincoln laughed again and shook his head. “Dude, you just moved a _mountain_ – and you didn’t even seem excited until she smiled at you.” 

When Fitz again looked down at Jemma, he almost forgot the flush that was threatening to spread across his cheeks. She was bouncing on her toes, brain a million miles away – probably coming up with more tests for him or the potential practical uses of this ability in the lab. Unfortunately, the silence was disturbed yet again, but this time it was by the loud growl released by his stomach. Jemma snapped her eyes upwards and then rapidly devolved into laughter.

“Looks like it’s time to feed you again, Dr. Fitzy,” she teased, wiggling a finger towards his stomach.

Giving them a large grin, Lincoln gestured back towards the red arch. “Learning to use your powers can be draining – I ate four meals a day when I first got here. C’mon, dining hall’s back this way.”

As he fell into step behind his de facto tutor, Fitz let out a thoughtful hum. “Can you warm up food with your powers?” The other two turned to stare at him. “Because that – that’d be damned useful.”

“Oh, Fitz!” Her tone was faintly exasperated, but Jemma’s smile still stretched across her face, and he couldn’t deny that he rather enjoyed that favorite refrain of hers. 

“I....” Lincoln trailed off into another laugh, and spread his hands out in front of him. “I have never tried.” 

“Lack of imagination, this one,” Fitz quipped. “No wonder you’re still in med school.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lincoln grinned into his response as he glanced at his mobile. “Says the guy who just spent 24 hours in a towel.” Without an appropriately cutting remark at hand, Fitz just let out a huff of faux consternation in reply, sliding his gaze over to enjoy the amusement written on Jemma’s face. “It’s actually just as well that you needed a break. I’ve gotta check in with Gordon, and I might not be back for a couple of hours. Dining hall’s that way,” he said, pointing down the left fork of their current path, “and when you’re done you can go back out to the cliffs and keep practicing small-scale. See what else you can hear, that kind of thing – maybe wait ‘til I’m back to try with the mountain again, though.”

Fitz was nodding as Lincoln spoke, but his brows drew together as something occurred to him. “Hang on – you’re gonna come back. Are you, what, just... taking time off from school to train me? Or transition me, whatever you call it?”

The other man sighed into a slight grimace. “I’ve got that covered. Eventually, someone will be chosen to guide you through learning about your powers. Someone who’s better equipped for it than I am –” 

“What if I don’t want someone else?” The idea of potentially having to deal with a new person who was as frustratingly vague as Gordon did not appeal to Fitz in the slightest.

Lincoln’s eyes narrowed, his lips quirking up in amusement. “Is that your way of telling me that you don’t hate me anymore?”

“I didn’t hate you!” Fitz glanced between both of their skeptical expressions and folded his arms. “I don’t hate you. I just... better the sod I know than the one I don’t.”

“Is he always this charming?” Trying to keep his smile in check, Lincoln addressed this to Jemma, who gave him a cheeky shrug in return.

“Pretty much.” 

“Anyway, I’m not sure when there’ll be someone free to help you,” he continued, giving his phone another quick look. “So I’m what you’ve got for the moment. The Elders are kinda preoccupied right now.”

“With what?” Jemma’d had her eyes trained on his phone as well, but she met his gaze when he returned it to them.

“With Fitz’s unexpected terragenesis. They’re worried about how much longer we’re gonna stay a secret.” His tone almost seemed like a warning, and the curiosity that had been etched so plainly on Jemma’s face was quickly obscured. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go – remember to rest in between practicing, and I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” Waiting only for their answering nods, Lincoln strode in the opposite direction of the dining hall and then was gone.

Without their overly-attractive third wheel present, Fitz held his hand out to Jemma. She gave him an atypically bashful smile as she threaded their fingers together, quickly raising them to brush a kiss against the back of his hand. Struck by the fact that it felt like ages since he’d kissed her, he halted their progress by leaning down to press their lips together. It was brief, as he was acutely aware that people could happen by the nature-lush path at any moment, but it was enough to leave them both blushing and grinning by the time he straightened up.

“So,” Jemma started, pulling him towards the dining hall, “I’m glad that you’ve warmed up to Lincoln. He seems like he means well.”

Had they met under almost any other circumstance, Fitz actually thought that he and Lincoln might’ve gotten along. As it was, however, that was not exactly how he felt. “He’s not bad,” he admitted gruffly. “When he’s not hitting on you.” 

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighed, squeezing his hand in hers, “he’s harmless. And he was hitting on you, too, and you don’t see me complaining.” 

“He was not!” Much to his displeasure, his voice went all high, and he could almost sense the amusement rolling off of her despite the fact that he kept his gaze facing resolutely forward.

“Or he was trying to, if you weren’t being so stubborn about hating him.”

“I was _not_ – and I didn’t hate him. You know me well enough to know that,” he griped, feeling rather put upon. 

Dodging the protruding branch of a fern as they turned a stone-lined corner, she laughed. “Well, you did hate _me_ when we first met, so it’s not like your judgment –” 

“Ex _cuse me?!_ ” He stopped full-out, causing her to trip slightly over their halted momentum. “I did _not_!” 

“It’s okay, really,” she said once she’d righted herself, her voice taking on an appealingly soft tone – or what would be appealing if he didn’t think she’d just gone completely mad. “It was ages ago, Fitz, and we were rivals – we’ve always been competitive, it made sense for you –”

The indignant noise he released stopped her, and he dropped her hand to plant his hands on his hips. “We were – I wasn’t your _rival!_ We were just, I mean, you were the smartest – and I, um,” he stammered, brain spinning in place as he tried to figure out what she was saying. Taking a deep breath as the words lodged in his throat, he looked around and spotted a bench just a couple feet away. With a gentle tug, he got her to follow and sit next to him, and he was very grateful that she’d learned to give him as much silence as he needed rather than attempt to finish his next thought. Although sometimes he missed the way they’d traded words and sentences without a moment’s pause, he knew that it was better this way, to allow for careful thought and give his still-recovering brain the space it needed. 

After a few seconds, Fitz just shook his head, staring up at her rather forlornly. “You’ve really thought that all this time? That when... that I hated you?”

Jemma’s mouth twisted sheepishly to the side, her brows drawn in concern. “Well... yes. You were always trying to one-up me in class, and you refused to speak to me unless forced... like we were in chem lab. What else was I supposed to think?”

He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, exhaling as he tried not to mentally self-flagellate about his younger self’s social incompetence. “I didn’t hate you, Jemma,” he got out at last, voice low. “I was just... I didn’t want to make a bad first impression. Which I s’pose I did after all.”

“You did not,” she returned automatically, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her, instead watching his thumb as it dug into the palm of his other hand. A few long seconds of silence fell between them then, until she reached over and curled both of her hands around his fidgeting ones, pulling his gaze up to her. The expression she wore was mixed, somewhere between sadness and fondness, and her voice was very quiet, so much so that he almost couldn’t hear her under the wind-blown plants surrounding them.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that I was so... so very wrong. After this year....” She trailed off, taking an unsteady breath before she continued. “I just thought you were fantastically bright, Fitz, so it made sense to me that you wanted people to know you were the best. I... rather liked the competition,” she laughed, a blush fading into her cheeks. “Kept me on my toes and such. It wasn’t a _bad_ first impression by any stretch.” 

He dropped his eyes again, unsure of how he’d come across so differently than he’d felt, but she angled her head to meet his gaze. “I’m... sorry I... I’m sorry I just assumed that you’d felt the same way. That we were rivals.” Jemma let out a sudden noise of distress, covering her face with her hands, and her shoulders shook as she inhaled. “I’m always wrong about you somehow,” she just barely managed to get out, a small sob breaking the last word.

Horrified that he’d upset her, Fitz reached instinctively out to pull her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and trying to steady the shudders that shook them. “Hey, hey it’s okay, it’s fine, Jemma, it was years ago... we were young and stupid –”

“We were never stupid,” she mumble-hiccuped against his neck, and he chuckled.

“We were stupid about each other,” Fitz clarified quietly, and she sucked in an acquiescent breath, curling closer against him.

“You’re the only person I ever really wanted to get _right_ ,” she whispered, tears dampening his neck as she pressed her face against his skin. “And I never even did that.”

Fitz sucked in a shaky breath, his hands stuttering their soothing path along her back. Although her words made a large part of him so, incredibly happy, there was something about the way she phrased them that niggled at him. 

“I’m not... um, exactly an expert on people,” he said at last, shifting her back so that he could meet her red-rimmed gaze. “But I don’t think... you don’t get them ‘right,’ y’know? You just... keep trying. And we’re doing that now, aren’t we? Trying?” 

Jemma nodded rapidly, and before he could say anything else she placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled him forward until their lips met. The kiss was inelegant, their teeth clashing and her lips tasting of tears, but as he let his hands curl around her ribs Fitz was fairly certain that it was one of his favorite kisses. Her fingers pressed against his jaw and cheeks, clinging to him as she sought out his lips over and over again, and he got the distinct feeling that she was making up for lost time. After a few, long seconds, she pulled away with a shaky breath, pressing their foreheads together. Tears flickered at the ends of her eyelashes, and he tilted his head so that he could press one kiss over each closed eyelid, hoping that one of these days she’d stop seeming so sad. It hovered underneath everything she did, he realized, and had done since she’d returned from being undercover. All he wanted was for her to be happy again, and he’d do anything to help her find that happiness.

Although Jemma seemed like she wanted to say something else, nothing was forthcoming, and so Fitz leaned back and wrapped one hand around hers. “Food?” 

Nodding and taking a steadying breath, she smiled as he pulled her up off of the bench. Jemma wasn’t totally recovered yet, but the way she smiled up at Fitz made him think that, maybe, with a little extra of his attention, she’d get there soon.

 

\------

 

Much like when they’d been living at the cabin, Fitz and Jemma fell into an easy routine at Afterlife, although their variety of eccentric neighbors made things a little more interesting (and sometimes a little less simple). Yet again, their days consisted of training Fitz and learning about his abilities, and their nights consisted of slowly exploring the new, romantic (and physical) aspects of their relationship. (In that regard, they’d hit on a happy sort of plateau. Knowing that it would just leave both of them frustrated, neither one brought up sex again, instead eagerly revisiting the activities they’d first enjoyed at the cabin.) 

Afterlife was a pleasant enough place to live, if quiet – except for one day, when they were awoken by a large commotion towards the center of the commune’s winding paths. Gordon appeared – looking harried as they’d never seen him – just as Fitz opened the door to their hut, and warned them to stay put until Lincoln told them otherwise. When Fitz’s transitioner eventually showed up, he had two bags of Thai takeaway and demurred about the morning’s excitement. The daughter of a disgruntled former member of the community had been brought here to see if she wanted to transition, and her arrival had stirred up some old tension. Nothing to worry about, he assured them, and then effectively distracted Fitz with satay.

Although Fitz felt like he was falling more in love with Jemma by the minute, he worried about her insistence on staying by his side. Admittedly, the longer they stayed, the lighter she seemed, as if she was gradually shedding the weight of duties piled onto her by SHIELD at the Playground, but he could also tell that she was getting bored. There was only so much she could to do cheer him on, and even though he was kept occupied by his training Jemma was almost certainly suffering from a lack of mental stimulation. Not that she ever said anything of the sort to him, that is. But he could tell by the relief on her face when he gave up on practicing for the evening; judging by the near-constant smile on her face, he, at least, was amusement enough.

One afternoon, having yet again exhausted the small crop of medical journals Lincoln had managed to procure for her, Jemma perched on a picnic table nearby to watch Fitz train. Lincoln had blocked off one of the commune’s more isolated squares for today’s session, and had set up a long line of water-filled wine glasses over the span of two tables. Clouds and verdant branches shimmered in the mirror-still liquid, and Fitz was trying not to think about how his time would be better spent working on one of his designs back in either the lab or the garage. (Just because he’d been busy every day at Afterlife didn’t mean that he enjoyed what he’d been doing.)

“Don’t give me that look.” Now that they’d gotten used to each other, Lincoln seemed to have figured out that Fitz’s prickly exterior was mostly a front, and had lost his hesitance about ordering him around. (Fitz suspected that this had to do, at list in part, with Jemma’s subtle encouragement.) Waving his phone in one hand, Lincoln stretched his legs out where he sat at a different table. “It’s not that off-base – I play a note on this, and you hold it. It isn’t that different from what you were doing yesterday.”

Fitz let out a dry chuckle and shifted into a firmer stance on the aged cobblestones. “Right – so just try to channel _Miss Congeniality_. But in Inhuman form.”

“Not a reference I’d have expected you to make,” Lincoln joked, and Fitz shot him a look.

“Skye – my friend made me watch it in retaliation for _Paranormal Activity_.” 

“Oh, hush, you liked that movie!” Jemma leaned forward at her table, and he found himself briefly distracted by the dip in her blouse. The bra she’d put on this morning was a deep magenta, and although he’d very much wanted to take it off of her again, he’d managed to behave himself. (Mostly by reminding himself that short-term patience would likely lead to long-term rewards.)

Grumbling and turning back to the task at hand, Fitz held his hands up in front of himself. “Alright, yeah, it was better than some of the alternatives.”

With a pointed cough, Lincoln held his phone up high and pressed a key on his piano app. After listening to it for a few seconds, Fitz set his jaw and allowed the buzzing inside his chest to change shape, morphing until it met the frequency of the glass. Once he had a tenuous hold on one, he inelegantly tried to adjust it so that it held even with the sound as he remembered it, finally managing to get a consistent and accurate tone. Taking a deep breath, he shifted on his feet, focusing on his task and letting everything else fade into the background. Slowly, he spread the vibrations from one glass to the next, creating a trail of shivering ripples in the previously still water. With each matching note, he could feel his powers stretching, filling the void between each vibration with an anticipatory pulse, the molecules awaiting his next instruction. 

Somewhere in between the third- and second-to-last glasses, though, his mind slipped briefly as he tried to count the tones he’d managed and his concentration snapped. Every glass shattered, sending water and shards shooting in all directions as he ducked and covered his face. The explosion echoed within the enclosed courtyard, and he looked up to see both Lincoln and Jemma glancing up from where they’d shielded themselves.

“That was lovely,” Jemma breathed, swiping a few errant water droplets from her trousers.

“Your gift’s pretty destructive, I’ll give you that,” Lincoln chuckled, swiping his phone unlocked. “But look at what you can do when you’re concentrating! That was beautiful, man.” 

“Fantastic,” Fitz replied drily, eyeing the widespread destruction on the previously spotless cobblestones. “So I can play water glasses. That’ll solve world hunger, will it?” 

“Fitz –” Jemma started, an edge of exasperation to her voice, but he interrupted.

“No, c’mon Jemma, I just....” He raised his hands in frustration. “I don’t see what good this’ll do me once I’m out of here!”

“I mean, you’re not gonna do this exact thing,” Lincoln started, brows creasing. “You’re doing this to fine-tune –” 

“Think about different applications, Fitz,” Jemma said, scooting off her table. “How you might be able to use this in the lab – or, um, the garage.” She glanced briefly down, a faint pink tingeing her cheeks, and she tucked loose hair behind her ear before speaking once more. “If that’s where you... um. I mean to say, think about what this could mean for your designs, or your prototypes. If there’s a problem you can’t see, you might be able to use the frequencies to suss it out!”

“Sort of like radar,” he mused, and she nodded eagerly.

“Yes, precisely! Well, not precisely, because obviously your abilities are _nothing_ like radar –”

“Clearly –”

“But they could still be infinitely useful.”

“Okay,” Lincoln said, standing and lifting his phone to his ear. “I’ve gotta see if anyone’s around to clean this up – hang tight for a couple of minutes.”

As the Inhuman rounded the corner, Jemma crossed the distance between herself and Fitz, curling a couple of fingers into his belt loops and tugging herself in. A vein of warmth spread through him at the easy way she made that kind of contact with him now, as if it was already just as natural to her as their friendship had (almost) always been. Having forced himself to deny that urge for so long, it still felt foreign to him, constantly having to remind himself that it was _okay_ for him to want to hold and be held by Jemma. Not only okay, in truth – but welcomed.

“ _Someone_ ’s feeling a little grumpier today,” she teased, eyes flitting fondly across his face.

“I am not.” She raised an eyebrow at the petulant note to his voice, and he grumbled, looping his arms around her back. “I’m just frustrated, that’s all. Feels like we’ve been here for ages and I’m not getting much better –”

“Fitz,” she interrupted, eyes wide, “when you got here you couldn’t stop your powers at all once they got going, but now you can – and so much more! That’s _marvelous_.”

“Doesn’t feel like much. And I know you’re bored, too,” he argued, giving her a small nudge. “Don’t argue, I know you too well.”

His second sentence stopped her with her mouth open, and she released a small huff. “Well, I’m not bored when I’m with you,” she retorted, and he couldn’t help the smile her answer triggered. Seeing his reaction, she paused rather than barreling into the rest of her argument and tucked her head under his chin, wrapping one arm around his waist. “Never with you.”

Fitz desperately wanted to say something big and important and romantic back – she seemed to say such things so easily, and they never came to him at the right times or in the right ways. But his entire brain was clouded with a large burst of love and joy, and he had no idea how to put such an important feeling into adequate words. As he struggled with his own thoughts, Jemma let out a brief, happy sigh and nuzzled closer in.

“But I’ll admit that when you’re busy I do feel a bit... useless. There’s so much I could be doing if I just had a few supplies, or a computer –”

“You’re not useless!” Pulling back, Fitz gave her an incredulous look. “I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without you here, Jemma.”

“Oh, Fitz, yes you would –” 

“No,” he said sharply, expression serious and earnest as he slid his hands up to her shoulders to keep her in place. “I’m just – I’m better with you here, Jemma, I am. Even if you’re not, I dunno, being active in my training. Just having you nearby helps. And I’m....” He exhaled, glancing over at the mess he’d made. “I’m so happy you’re here. I’m just sorry you’re bored.”

“I’m happy being here, with you,” she murmured, stretching up to give him a brief, sweet kiss. “And I’m _not_ bored.” She gave his chest an emphatic poke as if to prove her point, although it was undermined by the wistful sigh she let out right after. “I’m just... a little lacking in mental stimulation here, that’s all. I miss my projects.”

“No samples to fall asleep over.”

“That was one time!” she exclaimed, tutting at his quickly raised eyebrow. “Maybe twice.”

“Maybe a dozen.”

After laughing at the cheeky grin he gave her, she exhaled, smoothing one hand along his chest. “Oh, it just... it upsets me that you don’t think you could do this without me here, Fitz. You’re _so_ much stronger than you think.”

Shrugging, he didn’t meet her gaze, focusing instead on the path of her fingers over his navy-patterned button-down. A few seconds passed, and Jemma nuzzled up to search out his lips with hers, the affection again sending warmth straight to his toes. Whether or not he could do any of this without her was more or less irrelevant to him; Fitz knew without a doubt that his life was simply better with her in it.

When she dropped back onto her feet, an idea occurred to him and he felt his ears warm slightly. “Uh, Jemma? Would you put on the helmet for a minute? I’ve got something I wanna show you, but....” Her eyes followed his hand as he waved at the shattered glass, and she withheld a small sigh.

“Okay,” she agreed, reaching over the bench upon which she’d been sitting to grab the helmet. At Fitz’s request (or plea, to be more accurate), Gordon had returned briefly to the cabin to retrieve the bicycle helmet that Jemma had been wearing during their lakeside practice sessions. (To be fair, Fitz had bent the truth a little about why he wanted it, having deduced that if Gordon thought he was doing something for Jemma – the human – he would refuse. And it seemed perfectly logical to Fitz that he would want protection for himself anyway.) The helmet had largely gone unused here, but he was a little nervous about what he would shortly be attempting. “Will it be for long, though? It does horrendous things to my hair.”

“Your hair’s a work of art,” he deadpanned, smiling at the glare she shot him over the ungainly plastic clasps. “C’mon, gimme your hands.” Helmet secured, Jemma returned and placed her palms over his, curiosity tilting up an eyebrow.

Exhaling slowly, Fitz made sure he had a steady grip on her before he sought out the constant buzz of his powers. They were eager, nearly catlike as they flitted from his skin into the earth below them, seeking out the exact frequency of the dirt. He’d been getting better at sensing when his abilities would be more inclined to do as he wished, and it seemed that the explosion of the water glasses had them feeling particularly docile. Within seconds, he could sense the right vibrations, and he used his powers to send pockets of air burrowing beneath the ground to lift up the dirt under Jemma’s feet. She gasped, but his hold on her remained firm as she rose shakily on her small, earthen platform.

Once he was holding her steady, Fitz met her gaze with a bashful grin. “See,” he said, “I can make you fly, too.” It was childish, he knew, to want to show up Lincoln, but, even though he now considered the other man a friend, Fitz hadn’t quite been able to forget the wonder in Jemma’s eyes as he’d lifted her on that first day.

A peal of laughter sounded from her throat, although she stopped short when her platform shifted to better support her. He could feel the weight of her pressing against his powers, stretching them past what was comfortable, and, leery of pushing himself too far, he lowered Jemma back to the ground. Holding her own balance again, she gave his shoulder an affectionate thwack.

“You’re ridiculous,” she laughed, stretching up to brush a kiss against his cheek. Her teasing aside, he could tell that she’d been impressed, the way her eyes lit up exactly the reaction for which he’d been hoping. Eliciting that expression was one thing he could check off his to do list with Jemma; now he just had one more query left.

 

\------

 

After they’d finished Fitz’s morning practice session the next day, he mentally prepared himself for the uncomfortable conversation he was about to have with Lincoln. Jemma had excused herself early on, thanks to Lincoln having brought her two recent medical journals and a miscellaneous collection of magazines that he’d spirited away from his hospital. Pressing a fond kiss to her temple before she rushed off for her alone time, Fitz thanked his lucky stars that she’d given him the chance to ask something that he’d been thinking about for days. (That they’d both been thinking about.) 

“I can smell something burning.” Fitz glanced up from where he’d been worrying one thumb into his palm, and Lincoln gave him a grin over the edge of his phone. “C’mon, I can practically hear you thinking yourself to death over there. What’s up?” 

“I, um....” Fitz cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask you a question. About sex.”

Lincoln raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Is this a doctor thing, or....”

“What? No!” He crossed his arms and shuffled forward over the paving stones. “An Inhuman thing.” When the other man just stared at him, Fitz let out a long-suffering sigh. (He’d known that Lincoln suddenly gaining mind-reading powers had been too much to hope for.) “Can, um, Inhumans have sex with... y’know, non-Inhumans?”

Now frowning, Lincoln squinted back at Fitz. “I’m not getting it. Is this about anatomy? Because –”

“Will I infect her?” The blurted words hovered between them, and Fitz scooted closer, glancing self-consciously around the patently abandoned square. “If Jemma and I... we want to, but I – I don’t want to hurt her.”

Understanding lighting his face, Lincoln pulled back on the grin that teased at his lips. “Oh, so that’s how it is with you two. Nah, you’re not gonna hurt her. Unless, I dunno, she likes that. There’s nothing to infect her with,” he said, holding up a hand to stave off Fitz’s forthcoming request for clarification. “It’s in your DNA, Fitz. Inhumans and humans might be different, but how d’you think we grow in number? If she gets pregnant, your kid’ll have the genetic marker. Jemma won’t change – you’re not a danger to her.”

A relieved breath puffed out of Fitz’s throat. “Thank _God_.” He’d suspected as much for the past couple of days, living in close quarters with the other Inhumans, but it was a huge comfort to hear it confirmed. (A small voice at the back of his head hadn’t left him alone, certain that everything was going too well for this to be true, too.)

“Been feeling a little _blue_ , huh?” When Fitz frowned at him in confusion, Lincoln bit his lip and waved him off. “Never mind. Ah, should’ve guessed, though,” he said, eyes twinkling in the sunlight, “I’d sorta been hoping you were playing for the other team. Or both, whatever.”

Feeling more confused by the second, Fitz stared back at his transitioner. “What team...?”

Lincoln chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Nothing, man, nothing. Glad I could clear that up for you.”

“Actually –” Fitz grabbed for him before he could stride out of the square. “I need your help. When you go with Gordon this afternoon. You’re still doing that, right?”

“Yeah, you’re on your own to practice for a few hours. What’s up?” 

“Can you, um, get me a few things? For, um....”

Lincoln started laughing before Fitz finished speaking. “Med student, transitioner, wing man – I’m a jack of all trades, Fitz, hit me.”

Digging into his pocket for the crumpled note he’d scribbled this morning while Jemma was in the shower, Fitz gave Lincoln a small smile. “I’ve got a list.”


	10. Is there anything to feel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clears throat* Fair warning, this and the next two chapters are going to contain capital-E Explicit content. If that's not your thing, apologies - you'll probably just want to skim these.
> 
> This chapter's song is [I Hear the Bells](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=33Wv0SQuqCc) by Mike Doughty.

The rest of Fitz’s afternoon included luring Jemma away from their rooms, and then having the privilege of watching her talk about one article or another that she’d read that morning in between his practice sessions. He didn’t make much additional progress on controlling his powers, and, in fact, he was so distracted that at one point she asked him if he was feeling alright. The whirl of leaves he’d just blown off a nearby shrubbery floated around him as he glanced up at her, hoping she’d just attributed his nerves to his practice and not to anything else. Looking at the time, he thought it was probably safe to return to their hut, so he said that he was a bit tired and took her hand. A wash of relief passed over him when he spotted the frangipani flower tucked into the doorknob, even though Lincoln's signal was a bit too obvious for his taste.

Subtly removing the flower and holding the door open for Jemma, Fitz tried not to hold his breath too obviously. To his surprise, in addition to his request for dinner, a specific collection of scientific journals, flowers, and condoms, Lincoln had also lit half a dozen candles and spread them through the room, giving the red accents a warm, alluring air. Fitz narrowed his eyes at where the embarrassingly large box of condoms was prominently displayed in the center of the bed, and immediately began trying to think of ways to make Lincoln pay. _Wingman, my ass_.

Jemma had stepped into the room and then frozen without a sound, and Fitz shuffled up behind her as he pulled the door closed. “The candles were Lincoln’s idea,” he muttered, worried she’d think the whole thing was too ostentatious. At least Lincoln had gotten the exact bouquet that Fitz had requested – lilies, lavender sprigs, and orchids, all Jemma’s favorites – so she probably wouldn’t be upset about that part. Eyeing the condom box, he exhaled. “And we don’t have to, um – I just, I asked for them, just in case, but that’s not – we don’t have to... y’know. I just, um, I asked Lincoln, and he said that it was okay. I mean, that it was safe. I wouldn’t... do anything bad to you. It’d only matter if you got pregnant. And with the, uh, y’know, that wouldn’t happen. Or shouldn’t, I mean, I know they’re only effective 97 percent –” His rambling was stopped with an _oof_ as Jemma flung her arms around his neck. 

“Only you,” she said against his neck, “would romance me with flowers _and scientific journals_.”

Wrapping his arms around her in turn, Fitz frowned, cheek pressed against her temple. “But you said you were bored, so I thought that would –”

“No no no,” she said quickly, dropping down to cup his face in her hands. “You don’t understand – it’s perfect.” Her gaze was more open than he’d ever seen it, affection practically radiating from her skin as she studied his face. “Fitz, you’re...” she trailed off, taking longer to think her words through than she was usually wont to do. “You’re the most... precious thing in my life.”

“Oh,” he breathed, warmth weaving through him at her words. “I, um, I feel the same way.”

As she stretched up to kiss him, her smile was blindingly bright, and Fitz breathed into one of his own against her lips. It began sweet and heartfelt, mouths moving languidly and in sync, this kind of kiss feeling both new and familiar after this many days. A different vein wound through it, though, the promise of something more held in the flickering lights on the walls and the press of her along the length of him.

“Make love to me, Fitz,” she breathed against his lips, the gold flecks in her irises shining in candlelight.

“We don’t have to,” he murmured back, sliding his lips along the pale column of her throat. “Honestly, tomorrow or whenever, I don’t care –” 

“Now.” Her voice was certain, and he pulled back to meet her unwavering gaze. “I’m so tired of waiting.”

Overwhelmed by the burst of adrenaline that sped through him, Fitz leaned down to kiss her again, trying to pour all of his feelings into actions because he didn’t have the words. But it wasn’t because of his injury or because he was afraid of his feelings – this time, the words escaped him because no words he’d ever learned were large enough, big or important or perfect enough for something like this. For someone like Jemma. Sliding his hands up the satin of her blouse, he held her tightly against his chest, breaking away at last to press his forehead to hers. 

“I’m so in love with you,” he breathed against her mouth, pressing in again for more kisses to stay his irrational fear that she’d think him oversentimental. It wasn’t enough to convey how he felt, not really. One four letter word seemed far too small for everything Fitz felt about Jemma, but until he could better quantify his heart that word would have to do. “Not because of – _this_ , y’know, just....”

“I know,” she whispered back, pressing heated little kisses up along his jaw. “I know, and I love you, too. Really-truly.”

An awkward laugh burst out of his throat, and she paused to give him a confused look. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just....” He sighed, cradling her head in his hands, his whole body unnaturally aware of even the briefest touches. “Hearing you say that, Jemma... it’s... it makes me so happy. I never, um – I’d thought it’d never happen, between us, and now –”

“Now we’re happy.” Her smile was almost dazed, and a small flicker of thought flashed across her face. “We were happy, too, before...” she stopped herself with a sharp breath, eyes suddenly glassy. 

“A different happy,” he offered, knowing that once again they were on the same wavelength when she nodded.

A brief sniffle and then she was kissing him again, all heat and tongue and her fingers slipping down to catch in the belt loops of his jeans, as if she were trying to make up for the melancholia that had threatened to break through. Something shifted in the way she held him, and when he cracked open one eye she was grinning against his mouth.

“C’mon, then, Fitz,” she murmured, but the sound was low, bordering on a purr (or at least, he’d think that’s what it was, if it weren’t for the fact that Jemma Simmons didn’t _purr_ ). “Show me what you’ve got.”

Chuckling at her choice of distraction technique, he wrapped his arms around her waist and spun them both to fall ungracefully back onto the bed. Perhaps predictably, instead of the romantic gesture for which he’d been aiming, it didn’t quite work. Flower petals that he hadn’t previously noticed puffed up around them in a cloud, the condom box went flying off into the middle of the room, and her knee ended up centimeters away from the anticipatory bulge in the crotch of his trousers. She was cackling with laughter before he’d even gotten himself situated above her on the mattress, a very different kind of tear eking their way out from beneath her eyelids. Knowing that he couldn’t take that kind of embarrassment lying down (as it were), Fitz slanted her mouth open with his own, kissing her deeply and waiting until the shivers of amusement faded to shivers of a very different kind. 

Her legs parted instinctively, it seemed, because Fitz abruptly realized that his hips were already resting in the cradle of her thighs, the warmth he so wanted to be inside radiating even through the denim of both their jeans. Shifting so that he was supporting himself more comfortably, he slid his mouth down to suck at her pulse point as he ground his erection against her center. A whimper fell from her lips, her fingers clutched his hair a little too hard, and she wrapped her legs up around his arse to keep him in place. He rolled his hips forward again, sparks flashing through him at the tease of friction, and she rocked eagerly back against him.

“Oh, just – just like that, _Fitz_ ,” she said on a breathy moan, blouse getting pulled appealingly askew as they moved.

“Can I... what we were talking about the other day,” he murmured against her shoulder, letting out a small grunt as she rutted back up against him. “Lemme go down on you.”

They hadn’t spoken about it since leaving the cabin, their ability to hold off only as strong as their self control, and that meant that any fooling around was done on either the loveseat or in the shower – and never the bed. But he’d thought about it more than once as he’d watched her come, wondering just how much she wanted it, needing to know what that kind of intimacy felt like. Wanting to feel every tremble as she came apart beneath him.

A shiver ran through her whole body, and she pulled his face around so that she could give him a long, ardent kiss. “ _God_ yes,” she muttered into his mouth, legs loosening from around his hips. “But first – you’re wearing far too many clothes.” He grinned, scrambling up and over to the side of the bed, but before he could do anything else she grabbed his wrist. “Let me.” 

Eyes darkened, she shuffled forward on the mattress on her knees until she kneeled before him, still shorter than he. One hand brushed a couple errant petals out of his hair, a chuckle working out of her throat, and then her gaze fixed on his shirt. Her hands slid down to press against his chest, and Fitz wondered if she could feel his heart hammering away. Slowly, she stretched up to kiss the stubbled skin beneath his jaw – once, twice. He inhaled. Her fingers deftly flicked open one button, and then she pressed in for another kiss, flicking her tongue against his skin. So it went down the length of his shirt – one button, one kiss – until he was aching for not touching her back. But letting her undress him was probably one of the biggest turn-ons he never would’ve thought about on his own, his growing erection pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans.

Jemma pulled his shirt off, and stripped his undershirt over his head in one smooth motion. Then her eyes fell on his jeans, and an unbearably sexy smile worked its way across her lips. “Now what do we have here,” she said, flicking her eyes up to his. The press of her fingers against him as she released the button was pure torture, and his hips twitched forward of his own accord. “Patience, Dr. Fitzy.” 

His breath caught as she worked the zipper down and then reached out to run her fingers along the underside of his shaft through his boxers. Something between a groan and a whine echoed out of his throat, and she glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. Whatever she was thinking at that, she didn’t voice it, instead bending over to tug the denim down and bringing her head perilously close to another place he suddenly really wanted her mouth. (He’d never ask, _never_ , he promised himself quickly, kicking his trousers away, but that didn’t stop him from _really_ liking the idea.)

As she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his banana-pattered underwear, he cleared his throat. “Actually, uh – maybe best leave those on. Until after....”

“Okay,” she said, giving him a small smile as she leaned up to kiss him again. He couldn’t get enough of her mouth, of the way her fingers traced over his skin so carefully, gently, as if she was making a point of seducing him. Or she was simply teasing him into madness – either option was completely viable at this point. 

As they kissed, he peeled her out of her clothes, letting his fingers brush against her skin and feeling gooseflesh shiver up. Taking a moment too long to fumble with her bra’s infernal clasp, Fitz realized that he’d never actually undressed her before – he’d seen her naked more than a handful of times now, but she’d always taken her own clothes off. Once the damned undergarment was off, he threw it away with a muttered swear, warmth blooming in his cheeks as she giggled. But he couldn’t bring himself to stay embarrassed for long because now her breasts were there in front of him, bare and glorious and _God_ , he was never going to get tired of staring at them.

Encouraging her to shift onto her bum on the mattress, he made quick work of her jeans and then crawled up along her side to press warm, wet kisses along her neck. One hand found its way to her breast and he let out a small groan at the way her nipple tightened at his touch. She took in a sharp breath as he slid his thumb around her areola and then lightly pinched the nipple between his fingers, a whimper eking out of her throat. Kissing slowly down her neck, over her clavicle, and across her breastbone, his mouth finally reached her other breast. Fitz inhaled before wrapping his lips around her nipple and tugging it into his mouth, flicking his eyes up to watch her reaction.

Jemma let out another whimper, eyes squeezing shut and breath becoming more and more ragged. Wanting to revel in the different reactions he could elicit – continuing to caress her other breast with his hand – he laved her nipple with his tongue, and then scraped the hardened nub lightly with his teeth. At the last, she let out a shocked “ _oh!_ ” and her hips twitched next to him. The next moan she released was when he moved to her other breast and provided it with the same attention, thanking everything that was holy that she seemed to enjoy him playing with her breasts almost as much as he did. (“Almost” being the key word – his cock was pressed painfully against the mattress now, each of her little shivers and noises causing him to twitch in his boxers.)

Eventually, he continued kissing down her chest, regretfully abandoning her breasts so that he could continue his current task. A sliver of nervousness settled in his stomach, and he paused just above her belly button to raise his eyes to hers. She was staring at him, pink lips moist and parted over her heavy breathing, visible between the swells of her breasts. “Y’know I’ve never,” he started, smoothing his hands up along her sides to stay his nerves, “um, done this. So you’ll –”

“I think you’ll be fine,” she breathed, a fond smile quirking up her lips. She found his hands where they rested over her ribs and gave them a gentle squeeze. “But I’ll tell you.”

Nodding, he pressed his lips to the soft skin of her stomach, indulging himself by sliding one hand up her torso, between her breasts, and back down. She shivered under his touch and he was stunned, yet again, by the eagerness with which she received his attention. Shuffling further down on the bed, he hooked his fingers into her underwear and tugged, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. Her pupils dilated as she flicked her gaze between his eyes and where he was slowly removing her last piece of clothing. Bizarrely, he found himself briefly distracted by the way she drew her bottom lip between her teeth, and he had to force himself not to clamber forward for more addictive kisses. Once her knickers were by her ankles, Fitz sat up to remove them – and with a start he realized that they were damp. That meant she was already seriously turned on by what they’d been doing, and he inhaled as he dropped the piece of cloth at the edge of the bed.

“Enjoying yourself, Jemma?” His voice was teasing to hide his own nerves, and she smiled as he settled himself between her legs again. 

“Immensely,” she breathed, shivering as he spread her thighs wide and slightly up, exposing her completely to him. The way she watched him was the only thing keeping this from feeling truly pornographic, adoration and trust reflected in her gaze just as much as desire. That being said, the image of her naked, wet, and waiting for his touch was quite possibly enough to make him come right there.

Fitz trailed his hand up and down her inner thigh, avidly watching her muscles twitch under his touch, and tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that warned him he’d never be good at this. When he parted the outer lips of her labia with his fingers, though, his breath caught at the feeling of exactly how aroused she was. He slicked one thumb easily over her clit and then down to circle her entrance, swearing under his breath as she let out a low hum. Her hips gave a seemingly unintentional little twitch.

Glancing up for her approval, he sucked in a breath at the sight spread before him. Jemma’s eyes were closed and her mouth parted, her head was tilted back against the pillow and her body was utterly bare to his gaze, breasts shifting as she breathed. He could count every mole and freckle that covered her body if he wished, and thought that, someday, he just might. The reality was so much better than any fantasy he could have dreamed up, he thought dimly, brain too clouded with lust and affection to do much else for a few seconds. Then, finally, he slid his tongue against her in one, long sweep, the tip flicking purposefully over her clit and eliciting a strangled gasp.

“Oh _God_ ,” she moaned, hips shifting up slightly as she resisted the urge to rock against his mouth. He spent a few, long seconds lapping at her clit just to watch the flush spread up her cheeks, fascinated by the way this seemed to drive her so much higher than his hands.

Going down on her wasn’t quite as intimidating as he’d thought it might be, he realized quickly, using his tongue to follow similar patterns to the ones his hands had learned. Although the downside was that he couldn’t see her face as well, feeling the way she reacted beneath him was an acute aphrodisiac, and the sounds she was making were sharper, louder. His hands were also primarily occupied with holding her thighs steady, feeling the way she was resisting the urge to close them around his head. When he stretched up again to suck at that small bundle of nerves, watching her avidly, her moans were so desperately hot that he had to grind his hips into the bed, just to relieve some of the pressure.

“F-fingers,” she gasped as he swirled his tongue around her entrance and then ran it along a sensitive swath of skin just beneath her clit. “Use your fingers.”

Shifting around briefly, he looped one arm over her hips to stay their movement and slid the forefinger of his other hand inside her, followed shortly by his middle finger. The sight of his fingers disappearing inside of her made him lightheaded with arousal, having never before really been able to see what he was doing to her when he got her off. This angle, he decided spontaneously, transfixed by the slow motion of the digits in and out of her, was much, _much_ better. Jemma released an eager moan as he immediately searched out her G-spot, and then made a small cry as he returned to sucking at her clit in concert with his now moving fingers. This was all about her right now, but he’d be damned if having her under his control like this wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever experienced.

Her whole body gave a strong shiver, thighs tensing and inner walls fluttering around his fingers, and he let out a small groan. A shocked, keening noise echoed from her throat in response to his sound, and he was struck with the memory of how his powers had made her come that very first time. Taking another few moments to caress her sensitive skin elsewhere with his lips and tongue, he returned to her clit and began humming, laving the nub with the flat of his tongue and thrilling at the high cries that began to fall from her lips. 

“Fitz, _Fitz_ , yes, God _Fitz!_ ” Hearing his own name had never turned him on so much, and he groaned again, trying to focus on stroking his fingers against that perfect spot inside her while he mouthed at her clit. “I’m about to – _Fitz!_ I’m gonna – c-come!”

Her moan was high and shocked as the tension in her muscles shivered outward in one, sharp wave, her inner walls grasping and clutching at his still-moving fingers. His arm tensed as he held her hips steady against the frantic, unconscious little jerks she made during her orgasm. Knowing that she’d tell him when to move away, he continued lapping at her clit, grinding his cock against the mattress once more as a wave of arousal hit him in the aftermath of her climax. He could feel every shiver of pleasure through his mouth as she came, and, _God_ , all he wanted to do right now was shed his boxers and replace his fingers with his cock. To hear her moan his name as he buried himself inside her tight, slick passage over and over again.

But he might not even get to do that, he reminded himself, not knowing how Jemma would feel after coming. In theory, sex might not be as painful if she was still aroused and relaxed, but he didn’t _really_ know and he refused to push her. At the very least, he was fairly certain he’d get to have her hands on him, and that would be more than enough for him. The condoms could wait for another day. 

“S-stop,” came a hoarse whisper from above, and he finally lifted his head, wiping his mouth and scooting up and over slightly so that he could see her. Jemma lay spread-eagled on the mattress, eyes squeezed shut and pants rasping out of her throat, and he pressed in along her side, skimming his fingers in a line from her breastbone to her navel and watching the way this caused another tremor. Sweat on her skin shone in the candlelight, tendrils of hair curled messily around her neck, and her rosy nipples shivered over her deep breaths.

Unable to wait as she recovered, he reached clumsily down to push his boxers over his erection and then kick them off. Turning back to Jemma, Fitz let out a low moan as he took himself in hand and gave his cock a few, strong pumps, eyes tracking the length of her body. Christ, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, lying on his bed in stunned arousal and exhaustion. He’d caused that, he reminded himself, slicking one thumb around the head of his cock to catch the precum and use it to ease his strokes; he’d made Jemma Simmons come with his mouth, and she’d _wanted_ him to. 

He was so distracted by memorizing the image – and reveling in the build of his arousal – that he didn’t notice that Jemma had opened her eyes again until she spoke. “Excuse me,” she slurred lightly, and he snapped his gaze up to hers. “But I think that’s _my_ job.”

Then she was pushing him backwards onto the mattress, skin sliding against his, and as he unintentionally (and then intentionally) grabbed her bum he realized that this was the first time they’d both been naked in bed together. Straddling him, Jemma dipped her head down to mouth heatedly at his pulse point, and he could feel the way her tongue scraped against his stubble. “I want you inside me, Fitz,” she murmured, reaching between them so that she could stroke his achingly rigid cock. “Condom.” 

“R-right,” he breathed, vision hazing out in another wave of lust.

Pausing to kiss him again, so passionately that he could barely keep up, she then twisted around to stretch towards the box on the floor. Determined to be as honorable as possible (despite the hormones surging through him), Fitz scooted up to the head of the bed and put all of his energy into not reaching for his cock yet again. When she turned back to him with a confused look, foil packet in hand, he took a shaky breath before he could answer. 

“Thought it might be better, like, um....” He trailed off, situating himself on his knees with his back to the headboard. “So you can, um, control it. In case it hurts. And in case my powers –”

“Oh, _Fitz_ –”

“In case my powers,” he insisted, talking over her, “act up, then you can get away faster. Alright? Please, Jemma.”

Shaking her head fondly, she crawled up to him – and he stopped breathing for a moment, watching the sway of her breasts. “Okay,” she whispered, straddling his lap and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, “this way, then.” She kept herself held away for a moment as he clumsily slid the condom over himself, feeling like he was taking too long and relieved once it was on. Knowing that she’d probably need some support he slid his hands around to her ass again, but he was distracted briefly from his arousal by her pressing in for soft, sweet kisses. “I adore you.” At first, it was so quiet that he barely heard her, even though she was almost as close to him as she could get. “I adore you,” she repeated, voice getting stronger as she broke up each sentence with a kiss. “I _adore_ you.”

Although Fitz opened his mouth to answer her, to say that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, he cut himself off with a choked groan as Jemma reached down to guide the head of his cock to her entrance. When her eyes flicked up to meet his, he gave her an almost-imperceptible nod, and then she sunk down onto him. Pleasure surged through him as her wet heat enveloped his cock and he shut his eyes on a moan, fingers tensing into the soft skin of her bum. She stopped moving when he was barely inside, though, and a quiet whimper sobered him up quickly.

When he opened his eyes, hers were squeezed tightly, breath hitching out of her throat in tense little bursts. Her inner walls gave a halting clench around his cock and he inhaled sharply, his hips giving a brief, involuntary twitch upwards and pushing him slightly further into her. A small, surprised whine echoed out of her throat, and he froze, horrified with himself. 

“Shit, Jemma, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t – it wasn’t on purpose, I-I um –”

“It’s okay,” she breathed, scratching at the hair along the back of his neck, her lips trying to quirk into an unsuccessful smile. “I know, it’s okay –”

“D’you wanna stop?” His voice was desperate, eyes searching hers for any of the eagerness she’d shown only a few moments ago. The discomfort etched into her face was quickly subsuming the fantastic sensation of being inside her, and he would’ve done anything right then to make her feel better. “We can, it’s fine, I don’t care –” 

“No,” she said, tone a little sharp. “I just – need time, Fitz, please.”

Nodding, he swallowed, torn between extreme concern and potent arousal. After a moment, he leaned hesitantly forward to press light kisses along her cheek, jaw, anywhere that he could reach without moving more than his head. A part of him wanted to say something soothing – the part that was so in awe of the trust she placed in him to attempt something that had evidently been very uncomfortable for her in the past. But he reminded himself that just because their relationship was different didn’t mean that _she_ was different, and his best friend had always responded better to physical affection rather than words. So he continued to shower her with gentle kisses, pleased that he was able to stay some of his own arousal by focusing on alleviating her discomfort the only way he knew how.

A few moments passed until she exhaled slowly and let herself slide down a little further, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from groaning at the sensation of her muscles continuing to grasp at him. It felt almost like when she’d tease him with her hands when they were in the shower (if infinitely better), when she was purposely trying to drive him mad, and even though he knew this consciously his body just wanted to react the same way. Wanted to drive forward again and again, seeking that perfect friction. 

Her face twisted, and he mentally cursed the anatomy that resulted in sex feeling so bloody fantastic right away for one of them, and for the other to have to push herself through it. After another few seconds, during which he started brushing kisses against every freckle on her cheeks, she shifted so that she only had one hand around his shoulders. Her other hand wormed its way down between them and his mouth went dry as he avidly watched her stroke her clit. A quiet hum of relief escaped her throat, and he groaned piteously.

“Fuck baby girl,” Fitz gritted out, eyes squeezing shut as she tightened around him in reaction to her own fingers. One day, he promised himself, he was going to ask if she’d let him watch her get herself off, because the image had never truly left his head after the night he’d interrupted her in the cabin. (How long he’d be able to watch her without intervening was another matter entirely.)

Eventually, the circling of her fingers allowed Jemma to sink all the way onto him, and she paused with a relieved sigh, hips grinding slowly against his as she adjusted to the fullness of him inside her. Although he wanted to kiss or congratulate or reassure her, Fitz was completely incapable of rational thought from the second that he was actually inside her. All the pleasure centers in his brain were lighting up and he could barely breathe – and they hadn’t even really started yet.

Her hand continued to move between them, and he was surprised out of his haze by a quiet giggle. Dragging his eyelids open, he raised an eyebrow. “You’re not supposed to laugh when I’m inside you,” he mumbled, avidly watching the renewed sparkle in her eyes. “S’ damned rude, is what it is.”

“ _Baby girl_?” She was just as breathless as he, and he almost forgot what she’d said as she lifted up and then sunk back onto him again, letting him in all the way.

“What?” Fitz could barely keep his eyes open, although he desperately wanted to keep watching her, particularly the smile she now wore. Having her tentatively continue this slow rhythm of her hips was shorting his normally high-IQ brain out completely, and it was all he could do to grip her bum more firmly. 

“Interesting nickname,” she teased, shifting her hips to change the angle.

At her next downstroke, she let out a surprised moan, drawing one hand away to lean forward against the headboard. The change allowed him slightly deeper inside, the tightness of her passage slick and hot and absolutely fucking perfect around him. Her hips sped up gradually, hitting that angle again and again, and he allowed himself to give small, answering thrusts upwards. Panting against his ear, she let out a shaky whimper, tightening the grip of her other arm around his shoulders and pressing them closer together as she moved.

Fitz was surrounded by her, the pleasure rocketing through his veins at every stroke, and he realized with a jolt of horror that he was about to come. Jemma had just barely adjusted enough to enjoy herself – or seem like she was – and he was about to be the bloody virgin that he was (had been) and come too fast. Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he leaned slightly back against the headboard to deprive himself of the feeling of her naked body riding him as much as possible and focused all of his energy on _not_ coming. It seemed like an impossible task, because, _God_ , Jemma Simmons was panting into his ear and eagerly taking his cock as far inside her as she could manage, and nothing else in his life had ever felt so damned erotic and fantastic.

“Oh _Fitz_ ,” she let out in a high moan against his cheek. “This is – so _good_... so much –” A small gasp fell from her lips and she stilled abruptly, his whole body ringing with the desire for her to keep going. “Oh God, Fitz, what’s wrong?” He pried his eyes open to stare blurrily at her, registering actual fear etched onto her face. “What’s happening?”

He blinked his eyes fully open then, and he realized that the room around them was shaking violently, the lamp on his bedside table mere inches away from crashing to the floor. “I’m –” he groaned, struggling to keep the potency of his arousal at bay. “Trying not... to come.”

“Oh,” she breathed, and then let out a small laugh, wrapping both arms tightly around his shoulders. Normally, he would’ve been thrilled at the feeling of her nipples pressed against his bare skin and her body as twined around his as she could possibly be, but instead a desperate whimper just eked out of his throat. The bed gave an abrupt tremor. “Come for me.” Fitz lifted his gaze to where she was smiling breathlessly at him. “Come on, love,” she murmured, nuzzling at his nose and rocking her hips purposefully against his. The intentional clench of her muscles forced another aroused gasp from his throat, and she pressed in for a messy, barely reciprocated kiss. “Let go, Fitz. Let go for me.” 

Jemma sunk down onto him again, his hands tightened around her ass, and his jaw dropped open as a bolt of pleasure flashed through him. His hips bucked upwards, the force of his grip keeping his cock buried deeply inside her as he rode out his climax. A wordless shout burst out of him as the world narrowed to the feeling of her muscles tightening around him, her lips caressing the stubbled skin of his neck, and her sweaty body sliding against his. He felt like it went on forever, each of her little, aroused shivers just triggering another wave of sensation for him, and as he finally sunk backwards onto his heels and the headboard, he decided that sex was definitely his new favorite thing in the universe. 

Stuck in his post-orgasmic haze, he was barely aware that Jemma had begun pressing small kisses all over his face, and a dazed smile teased at his lips. “That,” he sighed, “was fantastic.” She hummed, nuzzling against his cheek and stroking the sweaty skin of his shoulders. As his endorphin high faded, though, shame wormed its way into his chest, and he cursed his inexperience. If he’d had at least _some_ kind of practice before, maybe he could’ve made this actually enjoyable for her instead of just tolerable. “I’m, um, I’m sorry, Jemma... I couldn’t....” 

“What?” She straightened from where she’d been tracing his collarbone with kisses. “Why?”

Fitz gave her a wry look, glancing down between them. “C’mon, you know why.”

Raising her eyebrows, she let out a small huff of indignation and finally separated from him, inhaling as he slipped out of her. Grabbing a tissue from the bedside table, he took a second to clean up and then lobbed the tissue over the side of the bed, ignoring her eye-roll. With a little adjusting, they arranged themselves so that he was still leaning against the backboard and she was curled against his chest, the once petal-covered comforter now tucked around them both. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said as they shifted around, tucking her head under his chin. “That was your first time and I’m objectively attractive. It’s rather –”

“Stop, please,” he interrupted, muttering into her hair. “I’m not a teenager, it’s bloody embarrassing. Let’s just pretend that next time was the first, alright?”

“No!” He frowned, tilting his head to meet her indignant gaze. “I want this to be....” A light blush bloomed on her cheeks and she dropped her eyes, voice exponentially quieter when she next spoke. “You don’t understand, Fitz, how... special this was to me. I thought... I’d wondered for a long time if I would ever enjoy sex. Plenty of people don’t, and that’s fine – would have been fine if I, um, wasn’t interested in it. But I wanted that... so much. To be so close to someone....” Jemma trailed off, squeezing her eyes shut and inhaling sharply. “I didn’t know if I ever would. If I’d find someone I’d want to try again with.” When she met his gaze this time, her eyes shone, unguarded in a way Fitz didn’t think he’d ever seen her. “But then there was you. Of _course_ it was you, after all this time... and you gave me that. This thing I didn’t know if I’d ever have. That I wouldn’t want to have with anyone else.” His heart pattered as he listened to her confession, and he lifted up one of her hands to press his lips gently against her skin. “So no, I don’t want to pretend the next time, or the time after that, or anything else was our first time. It was perfect.” 

“Alright,” he mumbled into her hair, pressing his nose against her head to hide the thickness of his voice. Having just had sex with her or not, the fact that Jemma was being so open about her affection for him still stunned Fitz on a deep level. It would take him a long time, he suspected, to truly, completely lose the certainty that she’d never love him back – he’d spent months thinking that, after all, and they’d only been together like this for a week and a half (give or take a couple days). “How’re you – are you alright? D’you hurt?” He slid one hand down to rest over her hip and she snuggled in closer. Candlelight flickered over her skin, bathing her in a warm, amber light as she lay against him.

“Not right now – although I suspect my thighs will be very sore. I need to exercise more.” 

“I can help with that,” he offered, and she swatted at him when he gave her a cheeky grin. “But, um,” he paused, clearing his throat, “when we were... was it bad? I mean, painful? At first.”

Jemma gave a slight sigh. “A bit. Not as much as the first time, not nearly, but....” Pausing, she slid her eyes up to his, lips twitching up at the corner. “And to think I’d been so pleased when I saw how thick you are.”

His mouth dropped open and he could feel his ears flush bright red. In any other circumstance, her complimenting something about him would’ve been an opportunity for him to preen, but he was too shocked to do much other than stutter inarticulately.

“Uh-um... I’m....” 

“Mmmm it’s going to be _marvelous_ next time,” she breathed. “Fitz, when it stopped hurting, you have no idea....” A little thrill zipped through his veins as she let out a quiet moan, sliding one hand up his chest to scratch lightly at his skin. “Speaking of, how long do you think it will be until...?” They both glanced down at his blanket-covered lap, and he let out a regretful sigh.

“Dunno, honestly. Never wanted more’n one go in a day by myself.”

“Not even when you were thinking about me?” Her voice was teasing, light, but he just frowned. 

“I didn’t... do that when I was thinking about you. At the cabin – that was the first time.” She rolled her eyes, and he shifted around to better meet her gaze, cheeks heating up again. “I don’t want you to think... I just didn’t. It wasn’t like that. You’re my best friend, Jemma, I didn’t just get off on you ‘cause you’re gorgeous. It was more than that.” He winced internally at his choice of phrase, but either she didn’t notice or she ignored it, straightening from his chest and reaching for his hand.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean – I know it was, Fitz. And I wouldn’t have minded if you had.” She wrinkled her nose at a new thought, and he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “I mean, I wouldn’t _now_. I’m not sure what I would have thought before.”

“I would’ve been mortified,” he chuckled, linking their fingers together. “There ah,” he said, clearing his throat, “may have been a few fantasies with girls who looked a lot like you, towards the end. Coincidentally, ‘course.”

“Oh, right,” she teased, leaning in to give him a kiss. “Complete coincidence, no helping that at all.”

A lightbulb went off in his head, and a smirk worked across his face. “Jemma... your dreams. Did you ever... y’know... think about _me_ when you were... um, getting off?”

Her cheeks flushed further and he broke into a full, throwing-his-head-back kind of laugh. 

“It’s not my fault! My subconscious kept putting you in all these – these _situations_ , and of course you’re somewhat familiar to me,” she deadpanned, tucking a loose hair behind her ear, “so it was a frightfully good likeness. I just... followed through on the dreams. A couple times.”

“Christ, that’s hot,” he murmured, leaning forward to capture her lips. “One day you’re gonna have to tell me about those.”

“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head and pulling herself against him. “One day, I’m gonna show you exactly what I dreamed about.” She bit her lip, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Well, over quite a few days. There were a lot of dreams.”

“I cannot wait,” Fitz groaned, pulling her back in for more open-mouthed kisses. A few minutes passed like that, with Jemma leaning halfway onto his lap and his hands caressing whatever skin he could reach. Unbidden, an odd little noise sounded between them, and she pulled away with a surprised gasp.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked, and the noise happened again.

“Jemma....” He looked up at her, his eyes shining in amusement. “Was that your stomach?”

Her nose wrinkled, cheeks pinking in embarrassment. “I didn’t have very much for lunch,” she mumbled, and he wrapped her up in his arms to drop a kiss on her nose. 

“S’my fault for wearing you out,” he teased, and she pushed lightly against his chest.

“Oh, stop,” she said, a smile worming its way onto her face through her embarrassment. Disentangling herself from his arms – which he lazily attempted to prevent – she scooted over to the edge of the bed. “Let’s eat, and then we can see if Little Fitz is up for round two.” 

“Hey,” he said indignantly, clambering out of bed after her. “Don’t call my – y’know, _little_.”

Jemma snorted, tugging up her cotton knickers and grabbing for his discarded button-up. “‘The-size-of-my-dreams Fitz’? Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”

Having finally located his boxers, he frowned as he pulled them up. “Does it really need a name?”

“I think so,” she said, flicking her eyes at him from where she was examining the insulated bag on the table. “I’ll be spending quite a lot of time with it, after all.” His focus drifted again to the various ways with which she could become better acquainted with his cock, and he exhaled. “So what did you have Lincoln get for us?”

“Depends on how much time he had,” Fitz answered, sidling up next to her at the table. “Is that all you’re gonna wear?” The sky blue shirt he’d worn earlier was more than long enough to trail past her bum, but she’d only bothered to button it partway up and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to focus on eating with her dressed like that. (Knowing himself as he did, that was a fairly big statement in and of itself.) 

Either unaware of or ignoring his lingering gaze, she hummed in the affirmative and half-heartedly patted his chest. “Could you get plates and utensils from the cupboard, please?” 

He chuckled as he made his way to the other side of the room, amused by her refusal to let him sidetrack her. “Sex, and then you get hungry. Pretty sure I’ve never wanted you more.”

“Oh, just wait until you hear some of those dreams.” When he twisted rapidly around to look at her, the smile she wore was so mischievous it was borderline filthy.

Staring down at where his cock was still determinedly exhausted, Fitz sighed. “Traitor,” he grumbled at his lap, switching to a smile at the laugh he successfully elicited from her. 

By the time he returned with the appropriate cutlery, Jemma was staring at an open container of sauce-covered spaghetti. “Oh, brilliant!” He grinned, reaching out to remove the top from the twin container. “He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to find a place to get spagbol where he was going, tight schedule, and I had to explain what –” 

“Fitz.” The low note to her voice drew his attention, and he paused halfway through dumping his aluminum container onto his plate. “Is this to – you asked Lincoln to get this specifically? Because of....” 

“First time we ate dinner together at the Academy,” he finished for her, wondering if maybe she’d forgotten. “Worked too late in the chem lab, couldn’t find anywhere else that was open other than –”

“Mario’s,” she whispered, eyes still trained on her partially open container. “Right by the cadet dorm. I remember.”

Just as he was about to ask if she was okay, she placed her container carefully on the table, strode around it towards him, and then reached up to draw his lips down to hers. The kiss was careful, ardent, and familiar, the same one she’d given him the other times when he’d worried about the wavering emotion behind her eyes. When she eventually dropped back onto her heels, she nuzzled once against his nose and then turned back to unpacking their dinner.

“This alright with you, then?” Fitz was slightly confused by her behavior, but the smile she gave him was filled with such transparent happiness that his worry disappeared instantly.

“Perfect, actually,” she answered, giving his wrist a quick squeeze before reaching for a plate. 

Considering that he was still shirtless and she was only partially clothed (and his shirt kept gaping open to reveal brief glimpses of her breasts), dinner felt astoundingly normal. They talked about the projects she’d been spearheading in the lab before they’d left, and started tossing ideas around for drone improvements he’d been idly considering during pauses between practice sessions. Despite their initial plan, they stayed at the table long past the point when they’d both finished eating, just talking, much as they’d done for thousands of meals before. 

Eventually, though, Jemma admitted that she was too full to do much of anything right then, and nodded eagerly when he suggested they watch an episode of something while they let dinner settle. After he’d set up an episode of Doctor Who on the hut’s ancient DVD player (and blown out the excessive amount of candles), she curled up against his chest and spread the fingers of one hand out over his stomach. 

“Tonight was wonderful, Fitz,” she said, yawning, and he continued smoothing his hand up and down her right arm. All in all, even if tonight hadn’t gone exactly to plan, it _had_ been pretty fantastic – as most things were with Jemma. 

“S’not over yet,” Fitz murmured into her hair, pressing in with a light kiss and settling her comfortably against him. For the moment, he wanted to stay as close to her as possible. 

All they’d meant to do was let the food settle in their stomachs, but the next thing Fitz knew Jemma was curled into an unconscious ball against him, head tucked under his chin, and his eyes were already halfway closed. Vaguely aware that the episode now seemed far too loud, he flailed one arm out to poke at the remote and shut it off. The room quickly descended into darkness, and he followed Jemma into sleep, hugging her tightly against his chest.


	11. Do you feel the lightning inside of you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [Salvation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWttGChn5ZE) by Gabrielle Aplin.

When Fitz awoke, he was immediately aware that his source of warmth and comfort had disappeared, and he opened his eyes to search her out. It was only seconds before he found her standing at the window, silhouetted against the moonlight. Jemma leaned against the sill, shirt pulled around her figure, and he almost didn’t want to move and risk disturbing her. A quick glance at his phone told him that they couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour. the interest that flared within him as his eyes drifted down to the curve of her ass spurred him to scoot across the mattress and off the bed. Hearing the mattress squeak, she turned her head halfway around to see him, a smile just barely visible in the shadows of her face.

Although a small part of him was ashamed of his one-track mind as he padded over to her, he couldn’t help that he was already focused on the possibility of being inside her again. More than enough time had passed that he was certainly ready, semi-hard at just the thought, and he pushed away his embarrassment at that fact as he pressed himself tightly against her back, wrapping his arms around her waist. The knowledge that he _shouldn’t_ be embarrassed by his desire for Jemma was still new to him, and he reminded himself that she would probably react well. A small gasp escaped her throat, and he leaned down far enough that he could slide warm, open-mouthed kisses along her neck. 

“Well, _hello_ Fitz,” she breathed, voice tinged with both amusement and interest. “Can I help you with something?” Her teasing aside, he’d felt the way she had twitched instinctively back against him, despite the fact that their height difference meant that they weren’t properly aligned while standing like this.

“I want to try again,” he murmured, sucking lightly on her earlobe. “If you’re ready.” 

She sighed, melting back against him and letting her head roll against his shoulder. “Convince me.”

A chuckle worked its way out of his throat even as more blood rushed south, and he glanced up to see what exactly was visible from their window. Luckily, Afterlife had assigned them a cabin along the edge of the retreat, and this window looked out over the vast valley below, mountains and starlight their only companions.

Feeling emboldened by the memory of her earlier responses, Fitz reached around to slowly unbutton the shirt, trailing his fingers down her torso over the fabric. Shivers ran through her at his touch, until he pulled the two halves aside and bared her to his gaze from above. Jemma tensed briefly and he pressed a kiss to her temple. “No one’s there.” 

“I know that,” she returned, having probably come to that conclusion at the same time that he had.

When he looked down, her skin practically glowed in the light of the moon, so pale that even the freckles he adored were almost invisible. The view of her lithe body from this angle, chest expanding as she breathed, had his skin tingling in anticipation. Having been given her tacit permission, he slid his hands up her belly to cup both breasts, her nipples tightening at both the influx of cool air and the teasing of his thumbs and forefingers. Jemma released a quiet moan, letting as much of her weight as possible lean back against him, and he nuzzled down to tilt her head enough that he could kiss her. Goosebumps had shivered up all over her skin, and he was now fully hard, his cock pressing insistently against her back through his boxers and her robe. He was certain that he’d never get tired of touching her like this, the faint shifting of her muscles elsewhere just as arousing of the actual feeling of her breasts beneath the pads of his fingers. Small noises continued to work out of her throat as he found new ways to caress her sensitive flesh, the contrast between her taught nipples and softer breast keeping him eagerly occupied. After a few, lazy minutes of him tormenting her with his fingers, she made a low frustrated noise and broke away. Her turn towards him forced him to drop his hands, but he couldn’t even think to complain as she shed the shirt before flinging her arms around his neck and slanting her mouth against his.

Their lips slid heatedly against each other, the pace growing slightly frantic, and Fitz reveled again in the feeling of her nakedness pressed against him, his arms circling her slim waist and his hands spread out over her soft skin. At the barest pressure forward from her, he began to shuffle slowly backwards to the bed, although they couldn’t make much progress like that, eventually stumbling and breaking apart. Fitz swore, Jemma giggled, and then they were both laughing, clinging to each other in giddy excitement for what was to come – and amusement at their mutual lack of grace.

As he caught his breath, Fitz shucked off his boxers and then sped over to close the blinds. Even if no one else would see them anyway, he suspected that dulling their, erm, noises would be generally appreciated. When he returned to the bed, Jemma had already hopped onto the mattress, one leg crossed over the other and her lip pulled between her teeth.

“Have I told you recently,” he said, voice low as he crawled up and over her, “that you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen?” He let his eyes trail up from her ankles over her exposed body, feeling desire ring through him at the heat reflected in her gaze.

“Not in the last hour,” she teased, a slight shiver running through her as he pulled himself in against her side. 

“For shame, me.” He whispered this into her ear, sliding his right hand between her thighs. Her legs parted immediately for him, a soft sigh escaping her throat as he began stroking her sensitive skin, his arousal ratcheting up as he realized that she was already wet. “ _Christ_ ,” he muttered.

“I was thinking about you,” she murmured against his mouth, her hips rocking forward to encourage the firmer press of his fingers. “At the window.”

“Oh?”

Ignoring his questioning tone, she slid her lips against his, parting his mouth and making illicit suggestions against his tongue with her own. “About your mouth,” she breathed, her head dipping backwards as he slid one finger inside to rub against her G-spot, and a whimper eked out of her throat. “How... how it felt... I’d never known something could feel so....” When he slicked his thumb in a circle around her clit, she cried out, abruptly stifling the sound with the palm of her hand. “Oh _God_ ,” she moaned, leaning her head against his as he nipped and licked along her neck and shoulder. “I want you – please, I want you, Fitz, now....”

Fitz groaned, stilling his mouth even as he sped his fingers up just enough to feel her whole body tremble. Something about her _asking_ to have him turned him on more than almost anything else she’d done so far. A part of him wanted to spend more time teasing her, wanting to see a return of the wildly-aroused Jemma he’d witnessed earlier, but he was far too eager to attempt to prove himself at being competent in bed – and too eager to simply experience sex again. So he stretched up to grab the box of condoms, both of them clumsily separating as he bent over to roll the condom on and she reached for a pillow. He watched her settle in and turn to him, a sliver of nervousness settling in his gut.

“Are you sure you... don’t want to be on top? In case I....” Smoothing his hands nervously down his thighs where he kneeled on the mattress, he was struck by the obvious realization of how exposed he was to her gaze. Her eyes had drifted to his cock as she’d turned in his direction, and he doubted he’d ever feel comfortable enough to be so exposed – emotionally and physically – with anyone else.

She shook her head quickly, stopping his mumbling. “This way, please.” When he still looked hesitant, she rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine, Fitz. You’ve been able to control your powers for days, and you stopped them right away earlier.” A mischievous smile worked across her face, and she bent one leg up to angle herself towards him. “Or do I have to order you over here?” His mouth went dry, and he barely had enough brainpower left to nod. “Okay, then. Leopold Fitz, make love to me right now -”

He was halfway to her before she finished speaking, the last word turning into a half-giggle as he slanted her mouth open, pressing himself against her, elbows keeping him held just above. Everything about her made him lightheaded, the taste of her tongue, the softness of her skin, the small sounds she made at his every movement, and he was struck with sudden disbelief that he hadn’t always wanted her in this way. How anyone could possibly resist her was beyond him – but then he reminded himself that she’d said she’d only ever been like this with him, and another surge of affection raced through him. A low hiss escaped his throat as she curved her legs up alongside his hips, the shift meaning that with just a little more adjustment his cock pressed between her labia.

His hips twitched forward without conscious intent, forcing the slide of his shaft through her slick folds, and to his surprise Jemma let out a shocked moan. At first unsure if that had been a good noise, Fitz looked up at her with wide eyes, but hers were shut tight and her mouth bowed in pleasure. After a second, he realized that he must have rubbed against her clit, so he repeated the motion, an answering groan echoing out of his throat as she made that sound again.

“You like that, Jemma?” She only whimpered in response, and he lowered his head to nuzzle against her neck; he’d intended to work his mouth along her skin, but what they were doing right now felt so good that he couldn’t even hope to multitask. 

Adjusting so that the angle was consistent, he began stroking intentionally over her clit with the head of his cock, biting his cheek to keep himself grounded, heat blooming across his skin at the friction they were creating. He wasn’t even inside her yet and this still felt fantastic, even if it wasn’t quite enough. However good this felt to him, though, it was clearly only a fraction of how his strokes felt to Jemma, whose legs had wrapped around his thighs to keep him in place. Every time his rigid cock thrust against that nub a strong tremor rolled through her, and she’d never been this breathy or loud before. For someone who was so reticent to express her feelings in every day life, she was shockingly responsive to sexual stimulation, and he wondered if it was the only place she felt free enough to just be herself. If he was the only one with whom she allowed herself to get carried away.

Spreading his knees a little wider and digging them more firmly into the sheets, he sped up, avidly watching pleasure shift across her expression. It wasn’t long until she was panting, fingers curled tightly into his biceps and shudders working through her whole body. 

“Fitz, I’m – I’m....” Jemma cut herself off with a gasp, her normally prim accent so much hotter when roughened in lust. “I’m ready, _God_ , I’m so ready....”

He groaned low in his throat, stilling his movements enough to give her an ardent kiss, trying to convey without words how ecstatic he was to be here with her. After a few moments, she broke away and nuzzled up at him, one hand curling around the back of his neck. Taking the hint, Fitz inhaled, reached down to line them up, and then pushed slowly inside. His breath came short as he focused on how she felt even better the second time, heat and slickness coupled with small flutters of her muscles around him. Despite his near-consuming desire to be completely surrounded by her, he felt her tense when he was barely inside and he froze, biting down on his tongue and trying desperately to keep it together.

Leaning his weight on his right arm, he slid his left hand down so that he could stroke her clit, gratified that at his first touch a wave of tension released from Jemma’s muscles. “That’s it,” he murmured against her neck, “just relax, I won’t do anything you don’t wanna....”

“I want you,” she breathed, “I want you _so_ much.” 

“You’ve got me....” He cut himself off with a gasp as she tilted her hips up and he slid further in.

Another twist of discomfort flashed across her face, but it disappeared under the continued circling of his thumb. “You can move, now.” Fitz ignored her in favor of distracting himself from his own arousal by sucking and nipping at the join of her neck and shoulder, unable to stop himself from speeding up his thumb and hoping that would help her muscles loosen faster. When she realized he’d ignored her, she squeezed the fingers still held against the back of his neck. “ _Please_.”

Giving in with a shaky sigh, Fitz removed his hand so he could balance better on both elbows, carefully watching her face as he pushed forward until his cock was seated fully inside. Pleasure rang through his veins, his breath catching as her walls tightened and released around him, trying to adjust, and a huge wave of relief washed through him as he realized that her expression wasn’t pained as it had been the first time. Instead, Jemma looked somewhat like she was in the process of working through a thought, and she shifted her hips from side-to-side, exhaling slowly. The movement caused a shock of arousal to work through him, his own hips twitching impatiently at the way he was reigning them in.

“Keep going.” She leaned up to capture his lips, stroking hers briefly against his before trailing down to kiss over the stubble of his chin. “Or do I have to give you more direct orders?” 

Fitz breathed into a small laugh, eyes slipping shut as he obeyed her at last, pulling nearly all the way out before pushing slowly in again and setting up a gentle rhythm. Her hand reached up to press against his shoulder blade, fingers spreading out against his skin and holding him tightly to her. Every stroke inside her felt amazing, and he was clear-headed enough this time to appreciate that the two of them had never felt closer than they were right now. Not just physically, although the tight slide of his cock in and out of her was certainly at the forefront of his mind. In all the time they’d known each other, they’d never been as emotionally open as they had been in the past few days, and that made this particular step forward feel exactly right, almost as if they’d needed all the rough times before in order to be ready for this kind of intimacy.

At first, he could see discomfort flash quickly across her face on most of his thrusts, but it wasn’t long before her expression shifted entirely, brows drawing together and mouth dropping open in a small “oh” whenever he was fully inside.

“That’s....” She cut herself off with a gasp, rocking her hips up and causing a shock of lust to wash over him. “That’s _it_....”

“Good?” He’d wanted to ask her a better question, to make sure he wasn’t hurting her, but his brain was overtaxed by the sensation of being inside her and yet not being on the brink of orgasm. This was so much better than the first time, now that he could memorize the zing of feeling every stroke sent shooting through his body instead of being pushed immediately to the edge.

“Oh – _oh_!” Her head tilted back onto the pillow, eyes closing as he changed his angle to allow himself to speed up slightly. “So – oh, _God_ , so good, Fitz!” 

The need that colored her voice encouraged him to give in to what his body clearly wanted, speeding up and thrusting slightly harder, and she clung tighter to him in response, her nails digging into his skin. Fitz was overwhelmed by the evidence that Jemma truly wanted him like this, that she was just as eager for him as he was for her: The shine of her eyes as she sought contact with his, the way her hands held him close to her, the shivers of pleasure that rolled through her body. Maybe one day – when he wasn’t still unsure of himself – he’d be able to use his powers to make this feel even better for her, send tendrils of sensation to the most intimate places inside her to help her come over and over again. He forced the thought away, though, too busy being ecstatic that right now his body alone was making her moan and tremble beneath him.

Instinct took over, spurring his hips forward again and again as they moved together, his adrenaline on overload as sensation spread out from where his cock worked inside her. They fit together so well, so snugly, that the thought of being made for each other flitted through Fitz’s head again, even if it was ridiculous. As fantastic as it felt, he kept getting distracted by the sounds Jemma made, or where her hands pressed into his skin, or the way she writhed beneath him, her body unable to decide to which feeling it wanted to commit. The way she shuddered under his ministrations almost made her feel fragile, in a way that he was very aware she was not, and he was filled with a renewed desire to protect her and make her happy for as long as she’d let him. Fitz inched his hands under her shoulders to hold her closer against him, her nipples sliding against his chest and triggering a new set of high moans from her. Her inner walls began to flutter around him, and he knew that she must be close to coming, inordinately thrilled that he was still far from that precipice this time. The way she was reacting to him was almost as addictive as the physical sensation of thrusting into her, and he was desperately eager to bring her to orgasm in such an intimate way. 

Jemma’s head tilted from side to side, as if she couldn’t stay still, and then with a whimper she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck. “Almost,” she panted against his skin, “almost....”

Even though her body continued to undulate eagerly against his, chasing the feeling that was rapidly reaching a crescendo, her reaction felt like she was hiding from him again, choosing to feel without letting him in, and he didn’t want them doing that anymore. As far as he was concerned, this was their first time truly having sex, and he needed them to experience all of it together. They’d spent so much of the past year hiding from each other in one way or another, and he’d been concealing his feelings for even longer than that. Fitz couldn’t bear her hiding anymore, so he drew in a shaky breath, smoothing one hand up to her neck as he pushed on, her body rocking beneath him in time with his thrusts. 

“Don’t hide from me, Jemma,” he murmured against the shell of her ear, triggering a desperate whimper from her throat. He inhaled sharply, brain stuttering briefly to a stop at the rush of arousal that noise sent zinging through him. It was a familiar sound by now, the one she made when she was so close to the edge that she couldn’t form words, and he slowed his pace ever so slightly. 

“No,” she moaned, the sound muffled by his neck as she trembled with anticipation. “Fitz, f-faster –”

“Look at me,” Fitz pleaded breathlessly. “Please, Jemma.” Leaning more of his weight on his right arm – not trusting the other to hold him steady – he raised his left hand up to smooth from her temple to her neck. “Please don’t hide.” At the gentle insistence of his fingers, she let him tilt her head back onto the pillow, a gasp stuttering out of her throat as his cock stroked against her G-spot. All of her was trembling now, even where her legs wrapped around the back of his thighs, and his breath caught as she slowly blinked her eyes open. 

Her gaze was dark, pupils fully dilated, and her flushed, parted lips shone in the dim light. Pleasure twisted across her face with each of his hard thrusts, and he could feel her muscles pulling tight beneath him, preparing themselves for the rush that was about to follow. A smile teased at his mouth as she searched out his eyes, her gaze unfocused and his own breath coming out in rough pants. Fitz was sure that nothing had ever been more right with the world than it was now, with the two of them as close together as was physically possible and Jemma staring up at him as if she couldn’t quite believe he was real. He knew that feeling better than anyone else – it’s how he looked at her all the time – and he leaned down to give her a passionate kiss, her lips barely able to reciprocate over her gasps. Once he pulled back, he sped up again, causing her to let out a pleased cry, hands scrabbling at his shoulders and back arching against him as he sent her back on the path to her climax.

His fingers continued to smooth up and down the length of her neck, thumb brushing over sweat-slicked freckles and triggering more whimpers. Her movements became uneven, hips losing their rhythm as she rocked faster against him, small noises of arousal echoing out of her throat as she tried to inch closer to the edge. Wanting to help her get there, Fitz sped up his thrusts, sending pleasure darting through his own veins and forcing his eyes closed as he groaned out his approval.

“How can I, _ah_ , can I help? T-tell me –”

One of her hands curled up around the back of his neck and he snapped his gaze back up to her, seeing the way her brows were knotted and her mouth fell open in an aborted moan. “I-I just need... just need you.” Her eyes bored into his, their faces mere centimeters from each other as their bodies slid rapidly into and against each other, and all of a sudden she came, tensing beneath him as she found her release. A loud cry burst out of her and she threw her head back, fingers pressing almost painfully into his skin where she clung to him. 

“That’s it,” he groaned, continuing to thrust forward as her walls grasped at him. “Yes, Jemma, _God_ , you’re... so gorgeous, perfect, never wanna stop....”

His words triggered another moan, and she released a full-body shiver, her mouth working as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words within her orgasm-induced haze. Suddenly concerned that he was pushing her too hard, Fitz slowed slightly, nuzzling at her cheek as she faded back into awareness.

“Why’re you,” she gasped, eyes searching out his, “slowing down? Feels – so good... faster....” Even though she was clearly still recovering from her orgasm, Jemma tightened purposefully around him on his next stroke and he let out a surprised grunt of pleasure.

“Fuck,” he muttered, letting his eyes slip closed as he returned to the fast, almost-punishing pace they’d set just before she came. “ _Yes_ , so good, so – _ungh_ , Jemma –!” Apparently, returning from her initial post-coital daze meant that her competitive spirit had returned, too, because she locked her legs more tightly around his hips and started firmly rocking upwards in time with his rapid thrusts. Every time his cock was inside her, she clenched around him, ratcheting up his arousal to the point that he couldn’t have seen straight if he’d tried. He moaned, wanting to open his eyes, but she felt so good wrapped around him, so responsive and hot, that it was all he could do to just cling tighter to her, pressing his face against her skin.

“Oh yes,” she breathed into his ear, briefly catching his lobe between her teeth and licking away the sting. “Show me – _ahh_ – what you’re made of, F- _Fitz_...! More, more –” She broke off on a sharp moan as he did as she asked, altering his position so he could snap his hips forward as fast and hard as possible, bottoming out inside her now at every stroke and causing the bed frame to creak beneath them. Her legs widened even further, giving him better access to her most sensitive skin, and he groaned out his arousal, consumed by the feeling of Jemma surrounding him in every way.

In a moment of abrupt clarity, Fitz realized he was seconds away from coming, so he moved one trembling hand up to cup her jaw and turn her face towards his. He wanted her to see what she did to him, to prove that he wasn’t hiding anymore, either. They were close enough that their lips brushed against each other as they panted from exertion, and his brows drew taught as he felt that coil tighten deep inside himself. All he wanted in that moment was to look at her, see the connection between them that they’d finally built after all this time, but Jemma – ever the overachiever – had to do him one better.

“Love you,” she moaned, holding his gaze as his orgasm broke over him. His hips stuttered forward as he hilted inside her, letting out a sharp shout and then small grunts as he rode out the white-hot waves of pleasure. Working from instinct, she ground her hips in little circles against him, drawing out his climax until all of the tension dissipated from his body at once and he just barely managed to catch himself on both elbows. Fitz let his head fall between her breasts as he gulped in air, trying to force his brain to figure out what he was supposed to be doing now. Neither of them moved, both frozen in a post-coital stupor, limbs tangled together and chests moving raggedly as they breathed.

Her walls clenched softly around his cock in an aftershock of sorts, and he shivered, the sensation now too overwhelming. Inhaling deeply, he pressed two messy kisses against her breastbone before separating their hips, drawing a brief gasp from her throat. She let out a drunkenly pleased hum right afterwards though, stretching cat-like along the bed, so he didn’t think there was a problem, and he flailed quickly around to grab a tissue from the bedside table. Once he’d cleaned up and dropped the tissue onto the floor, he made it halfway back to her before collapsing onto the mattress, not yet recovered enough to move the complete distance. They lay together in stunned silence, still breathing heavily, and after a moment he slid his hand weakly over the sweaty sheets to grasp hers and tangle their fingers together. 

“Bloody hell,” Jemma muttered with feeling, and they both burst into laughter.

“Christ, Jemma,” he breathed, finally able to turn himself over onto his side so he could see her. “It’s a damned good thing we _haven’t_ done this before, we never would’ve gotten any work done.”

“Who needs a second degree when you’ve got a really excellent shag waiting for you,” she said, yawning, and then frowned. “I mean – not really –”

“I know –” 

“Having our degrees was integral to our careers –” 

“Jemma, you’re sort of ruining the –”

“And to finding each other.” 

“– moment... oh.”

Jemma gave him a wide smile, and he reached forward to pull her against him, leaning down to give her a slow, deep kiss. When they separated, she seemed like she had something to say, but he ignored her in favor of pressing in for more kisses, and she giggled. “So,” she started, mumbling against his lips as he refused to stop kissing her. “When – can we – do that – again?”

He leaned back, eyebrows raised almost up to his hairline. “My heart rate hasn’t even gone back to normal yet, and you want another go?”

Shrugging, she scooted forward to tuck her head beneath his chin. “I like having you inside of me. Makes me feel... nice.”

If someone had asked him what was the one thing he would never have expected to hear from Jemma Simmons, it might’ve been that, and he would’ve sworn that he lost consciousness briefly.

His eyes crossing slightly at the idea of being able to _be_ inside of her again, he let out a low whine. “You shouldn’t tell me things like that.”

“Why not?” She leaned back to look at him, nose wrinkled in confusion. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yeah, but...” he floundered, mouth working silently for a moment. “But it gives me ideas.” 

“Fitz, I’m naked in your bed, and you’ve spent the last however-many minutes thoroughly shagging me. You’ve already _acted_ on those ideas.”

A wide grin spread across his face and he nuzzled into her hair. “I really _did_ thoroughly shag you, didn’t I?” If her reactions were anything to go by, she’d enjoyed herself at least as much as he had, and that was almost better than the memory of his own climax. (But only almost.)

Jemma laughed, smoothing her hand up along his spine. “Oh, yes, you did,” she practically purred, insinuating one of her legs between his. “And I expect you to do it again as soon as physically possible.” 

He shuddered at the tone of her voice, trying very much not to think about whether or not he could goad her into speaking that way during their next go-around. Although he’d expected days ago that she might enjoy ordering him around in bed, the way it ratcheted up his own arousal had been a complete surprise, and he was sort of curious about what that might entail for future encounters. 

A yawn escaped before he could stop himself, however, and he chuckled. “Could we maybe take a good, long nap first? You’ve sorta worn me out.” 

Making an amused little sniff, she followed as he tugged her with him back onto the mattress, and then rested her head on his shoulder. “I should hope so,” she teased. “I’m a nubile young woman and I demand your best efforts, Leo Fitz.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said over another yawn, trying and failing to think of a better comeback as his brain rapidly faded into a pre-sleep vegetative state. “Only the best for Jemma Simmons.” 

“That _is_ why I chose you.” She was grinning up at him again as he pried his eyes open, and a warm smile spread over his face. Aside from the clearly sexual nature of this new phase of their relationship, moments when she said things like that truly brought home the fact that they were something so different now. Hearing her reaffirm that she wanted to be with him in this way made it more real, and every time she did something did a little flip inside his stomach. 

“I love you,” he murmured, and she reached up to press a chaste kiss to his lips before snuggling back against his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“And I love you.” The words were whispered against his neck, breath feathering against his skin, and Fitz thought very briefly that he had never been happier than he was in this moment: Sweaty, exhausted, and completely enamored of Jemma.

 

\------

 

Their nap was only about six hours long, at which point Jemma evidently decided that Fitz had rested well enough. The first thing of which he was aware was her climbing over his sleepily-aroused body and reaching down to stroke him, pushing him fully into consciousness and riling him up in seconds. Her breath was heated as she whispered encouragements into his ear, asking if he was ready and waiting for his answering groan. This time, she took control, barely giving him enough time to prepare himself for the sight of her naked body, let alone when she rolled the condom on and then sunk down onto him with an eager moan. Being inside her felt even better as she rode him, back arching to take him as deep as possible, and Fitz was almost certain he was going to pass out from the rush. The sex was fast and hot and messy, both of their bodies eagerly using the other to push themselves to their climaxes. He had the brief thought that one day, he’d _really_ like more time to watch her writhing above him, bare skin shining in the dawn light, so that he could burn it into his brain. But then her orgasm broke over her, walls tightening and releasing rapidly, and drew him over the edge along with her.

Jemma collapsed against his chest, hair sticking to her face and panting desperately over his skin, as his hips twitched his cock deeper inside. They both lay there trying to get their breaths back for a few, long moments, with her occasionally releasing a small moan in the aftermath.

“I’m never going to be able to walk again,” she slurred into his shoulder, and he let out a breathless chortle as the last of his orgasmic haze faded.

“Walking’s overrated anyway,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Very true. Sex is much better.”

All of his limbs felt boneless, even as somewhere in the back of his head he almost wished that he could get hard again right away. Having sex with Jemma was completely and utterly addictive, no matter how tired he was now. Fitz glanced over at the bedside clock and let out a reluctant groan, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

“I don’t want to have to go to training.” 

“Don’t. Stay here, and we can do an experiment on how many times we can each achieve orgasm in one day.”

He let out a snort of laughter, tilting her head back and smoothing away the hair stuck to her skin. If he didn’t know her better, the look on her face almost made it seem like she was serious. “Did you just tell me _not_ to do something I’m supposed to do?”

She giggled in a very uncharacteristically Jemma way that he found entirely enchanting, and flicked her eyes up to meet his. “Oh no,” she said, unable to keep a straight face. “It’s all the sex – it’s turning me into a deviant.”

“Not yet, but I bet we can work on that.” He stretched down to kiss her, easily slanting her mouth open, and she hummed against him. “If it were at all physically possible,” he murmured, “I’d make love to you again right now.” 

Wrinkling her nose, Jemma tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “That? That wasn’t – that wasn’t making love.”

Unsure of what she meant, Fitz pushed down the unspecified insecurity that cropped up at her statement. “What?”

“Last night,” she clarified, “that was... making love. _That_ was special, us being... completely together. This morning....” She chuckled, turning to press her nose against his chest. “That was just – hot. Really hot.”

Her cheeks were bright pink, and he was torn between amusement that she seemed embarrassed at admitting those thoughts, and feeling touched at her categorization of the two times. That was exactly how he’d felt, although he probably wouldn’t have thought to put it into words in quite that way.

“Good to know the distinction,” he said fondly, his smile wide as she met his gaze again. 

Dropping another kiss onto her forehead, he encouraged her to sit up and separate from him at last, the condom now feeling rather unpleasantly sticky. Once he’d flung the new tissue over the side of the bed with the other one – and glanced at the time – he turned back to her. Jemma sat in the middle of the bed, knees pulled up to her chest and arms wrapped around her legs, an odd expression on her face. 

“Alright?”

She nodded quickly, inhaling before she spoke. “I never, um... I’m just... I’m so relieved, Fitz. That I enjoyed it.” Reaching forward to tangle their fingers together, a mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes. “A _lot_.”

The memory of her initial discomfort that very first time still hadn’t quite faded, and he nodded enthusiastically, pressing his lips to her back of her hand. “Me too.” After a few seconds of watching each other, Fitz ducked his head, unable to hold her gaze when she looked at him like that – like he was her favorite thing in the universe.

“Okay,” she sighed, stretching and releasing his hand. “I’ll shower first, then you?”

“I can’t join you?” He was both half-serious and not, avidly watching as she padded nude across the floor to the dresser.

“We’ll just get distracted again,” she answered, tossing him a wry look over her shoulder. “And Lincoln’s busy enough as it is to be waiting for us.”

“He seemed pretty happy to be playing wingman yesterday, I think he’d be alright.” But Fitz didn’t really want to argue, crossing his legs on the bed, content to just watch Jemma picking through her clothes for today’s outfit.

“I’ll be out soon,” she said, striding over to the bathroom. In the doorway, she paused, turning back to him with a sly smile. “Besides, I think we’ve rather graduated past the shower by now, don’t you?”

Laughing, Fitz watched the door swing shut behind her and then fell backwards onto the mattress, grinning up at the ceiling. His endorphin count would be off the charts all day after the night they’d had, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt as euphoric as he did right then. The light bleeding through the window’s shutters caught his attention, and, taking heart from his good mood, Fitz sent a small burst of air to push them wide open. Distant clouds marred the sunlit sky, shades of green and pink hovering in the distant mountains, and, for once, everything seemed to be going far better than Fitz could have predicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said there wouldn't be any more posting breaks, but I need to delay posting the next chapter by a few days - rather than Wednesday of next week, I think I should be able to do it by next Saturday. I'll keep you updated! (And yes, next week is another E-rated episode. *wipes brow*)


	12. Are you climbing all the walls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the reason for most of this chapter is because it would be a poor fanfic indeed if Fitz never got to _intentionally_ use his powers during sex.
> 
> This chapter's song is [Want To Want Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBfeUTOn3AM) by Jason Derulo, and is dedicated to notapepper, who mentioned Derulo in the comments for a previous chapter. ;-)

Despite being someone who didn’t generally enjoy mornings, Fitz couldn’t even hope to temper his good mood. As they ate breakfast at the mess hall, Jemma kept her hand on his leg the whole meal, and although they didn’t fill it completely with chatter they shared more than one blushing smile. Eating seemed to take forever because all he really wanted to do was hold her again. (Or preferably curl himself around her like a koala, but it would be hard to practice that way.) Before they could wander over to their normal practice area at the edge of the village, though, Lincoln sought them out himself, shrugging his jacket on and looking harried.

“I can’t help you out today,” he explained, and Fitz noted the dark circles under his friend’s eyes. “Jia– Afterlife needs me to keep an eye on someone for them.”

“Someone dangerous?” Jemma shot Fitz a worried glance as she spoke, and Lincoln exhaled.

“You know I can’t tell you. But I should be back this afternoon, I think, so don’t go slacking off.” He shot Jemma a grin. “Keep him on track?”

“You have my word,” she answered with a smile, although Fitz thought he saw a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh, and remind me to tell you later,” Lincoln called out as he backed up along the pathway, “I got some info on your dad!” Without further ado or a chance for them to ask more questions, he strode right back out of the courtyard.

A sliver of nervousness settled in Fitz’s stomach at the idea of potential news about his father – what would he learn? Where was the man who had abandoned him long before he could remember? His attention shifted quickly, though, and Fitz suspected that whatever the Inhuman couldn’t tell them about what he was doing for Afterlife was probably important.

“Did he look tired to you?”

Jemma hummed in agreement, threading her fingers through his as she tugged them towards the edge of Afterlife. “I wish he would tell us more about the inner workings here – it would be very interesting, I’m sure, especially historically.” 

“For all of their problems with SHIELD, they’re both pretty big on secrets,” he said drily, and she squeezed his hand.

“I suppose you could attribute it to the world we live in today,” Jemma mused. “The Invasion of New York, then Greenwich – not to mention Hydra. Keeping people safe has become far more difficult.” 

They arrived at the small, rocky plateau, brush and weeds wavering in the breeze. “Yeah, well, it just seems like fear to me. And I don’t believe in fear.” A wry voice in the back of his head pointed out that it was easy for him to say that now, when he felt safe and happier than he’d ever been.

“What do you believe in, then?” Her voice was teasing, and he turned to link his fingers around her lower back.

“Trust,” he said, pausing thoughtfully. “You.” She smiled widely at that, stretching up on her tiptoes so that their lips could meet in the middle.

After a few blissful seconds, she dropped back and untangled herself from his arms. “Come on, then – you’ve got work to do.” 

Fitz groaned, wrinkling his nose. “I can think of half a dozen other things that’d be more useful than me trying to match the frequencies of every object in a twenty-foot radius.” Pausing, he gave her a grin. “And a few things that I’d definitely _rather_ be doing.” 

Laughing, Jemma perched at the edge of a nearby bench. “Well, I can’t help you with the useful things – but how about this. If you’re well behaved for the next, oh, two hours or so, then we can act out one of my dreams.” 

His mouth went dry, and he shifted immediately into his practice stance, hands held forward and feet settled firmly on the ground for balance. A small giggle sounded from her direction, but he didn’t turn to look at her, instead focusing intently on creating a directed burst of air and sending it through the bushes.

 

\------

 

Two hours later almost to the minute, Fitz watched Jemma lock the door to the cabin and then lean back against it. Her eyes tracked from his feet up to his eyes, her own darkened and thoughtful. 

“So....” He made a vague gesture towards her, but something about her stance made him uncertain about approaching her as he’d done the night before. Although they hadn’t really talked about it, the way she’d been eyeing him as they’d traipsed back to the hut, hand in hand, made him feel like this was her show to run right now – and he was damn glad he had the only ticket.

Letting out a low hum, Jemma pushed away from the door, gaze holding his as she approached him. The clip of her boots, normally duller but now magnified by the tension between them, echoed in the silence. Once she reached him, she hooked her fingers into his belt loops, eyes boring into his as she spoke. 

“Unless you object,” she said, voice feigning nonchalance, “I’m going to suck you off.”

His cock hardened at both the promise and the tone of her voice, leaving room for his disagreement but somehow still in charge. Fitz swallowed thickly, unable to get words out on his first try. “I, uh, don’t. Object. But, um – the dream? Thought you said –”

“Yes,” she whispered, arcing an eyebrow, and his breath caught. 

“ _Oh_.”

Christ Almighty, she’d fantasized about giving him a blowjob. His brain well and truly shorted at that, and he almost didn’t catch the self-satisfied smirk that spread across her face. 

“Just one thing, okay?” Waiting for his nod before she continued, Jemma’s expression turned serious. “You need to warn me before you come. I’d like to try swallowing, but I’ve never done this before and I’ll need a warning.”

Already nodding before she’d finished speaking, Fitz tried not to get distracted by the images her words conjured up. “P-promise,” he stammered, and she gave him a blinding smile in return. 

“Good.” Stretching up on her tiptoes, she nipped lightly at the tender skin of his neck and then soothed the sting with her lips and tongue. Fitz couldn’t stop himself from grabbing onto her hips at that, just barely subduing an enthusiastic groan. Her breath was hot against his neck, feathering through the open V of his button-down shirt, and his hips twitched when she slid one hand down over the bulge in his jeans. The rub of her fingers through the denim was firm, deliberate, but not nearly enough. “Have you thought about it before, Fitzy? My mouth on your cock?”

“Once,” he breathed, pupils blown as she worked the zipper down torturously slowly. “M-maybe twice – when we were in the shower. Not before that.” Parting the two sides of his trousers, she bit her lip, and he watched as the soft, pink flesh slid through her teeth. Both of them stared down at where his cock pushed through the open sides of his jeans, straining against the confines of his boxers. Then Jemma switched tasks without warning, reaching up to flick open the buttons of his shirt one by one, and Fitz tried to bring himself at least somewhat back to earth. “H-have you, um, thought about it? A lot?”

“It was one of the first dreams I had,” she answered, flicking open the last button and then reaching for his hips. “Not sure why, but I’ve been desperately curious ever since.” 

“Right, then,” he squeezed out, and she flitted her eyes up to his with a smile.

One hand pressed to his stomach, she backed him up against the couch and then tugged at his jeans, indicating that he should remove them. More eager than he perhaps should've appeared, he did exactly as she asked, shucking them off as fast as possible. Once he was standing again, she returned her attention to his boxers. Her fingers made a sweep above the elastic, back and forth, and goosebumps shivered up on his skin. The way she stared down at his still-clothed cock only made him more aroused, although he had no idea why. Something about the hunger hiding behind her gaze, perhaps, or the way she seemed to be weighing her options. 

At last, she stretched his boxers around his erection and let them drop to the floor, where he quickly kicked them away. As he freed his feet, he turned to see her removing her own jeans and swinging them over a nearby chair.

“Dry-clean only,” she explained in response to his questioning look, and he barked out a laugh. A light flush bloomed on her cheeks, but he could see her resist the urge to defend herself as she crowded back into his space. One hand slid under his tank top, over the fine trail of hair on his navel and up to his chest before returning to his bellybutton. “Sit.” Then she pushed against him and he willingly dropped back onto the sofa, the ends of his shirt fluttering beside him and his bared cock bobbing between them.

Although Fitz felt exposed in his tank top and unbuttoned shirt, he was absolutely sure that she was wearing far too many clothes. The difference was the underwear, he decided as she kneeled smoothly between his legs, pushing them open. That was definitely it.

Wanting to see as much of her as possible without collapsing too far back on the couch, he grabbed a throw pillow and shoved it behind him, twisting back around to see what she would do next. Unexpectedly, she paid no mind to the supposed object of her attention this afternoon, and instead stretched up over it to bring him forward for a heated, lazy kiss. 

“One more thing, Fitz,” she murmured against his lips, shifting to suckle lightly at his neck.

“A-anything,” he said, eyes slipping shut.

“Be loud.” One hand wrapped around his erection and he inhaled sharply, trying to focus on what she’d just said as she pumped gently just at the base.

“Loud?” His voice was gravelly, and the sound caused a small puff of air to whoosh out of her throat as she sat back on her heels.

“Yes,” Jemma said, gaze dropping from his to land on his cock. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” Another mischievous smile teased at her lips. “I do _so_ love critical feedback.” Then she angled his cock up and swiped her tongue in one long lick from the base to the tip.

Something between a strangled gasp and a groan echoed from his throat, and his hips jerked upward.

“Well?” Her hand stilled on him, and he had to pry his eyes open. Light filtered in over her from the closed shutters, adding a layer of mystery to the heat of her gaze. The sight of his cock just centimeters away from her mouth was pure torture, the rigid flush of his shaft held in stark contrast to the pink of her lips and the cream of her cheeks. 

“More,” he gritted out, incapable of much else, and her eyes widened slightly.

“More?”

“ _Please_ ,” he groaned, eyes nearly fluttering shut as she leaned in to lave her tongue over the length of him, moving her hand out of the way. Her tongue was rougher than the softness of her folds, but strong and wet and hot as she slid it over him, tracing every ridge and vein and making him pant in maddening arousal. He couldn’t control the way his accent thickened when he spoke next, his mind too hazy to prevent the change. “ _Fuck_ , Jemma, just – fuck, _yes_ , just – like that....”

“That’s much better,” she said, breath washing over his now-slick shaft and making him shiver. “Don’t stop.” Keeping her eyes trained on his, Jemma curled her fingers around the base of his cock as she darted her tongue out to trace the tip, eliciting an uncontrollable whine from his throat. Her eyebrow arched, and a smile hovered at her mouth as she delicately wrapped her lips around the head of his cock and sucked. 

Pleasure washed through him and his eyes rolled briefly up, his hands fisting in the couch cushions to keep himself from reaching for her. “Oh _shit_ ,” he breathed hoarsely, watching avidly as she slid her mouth over his cock like it was her favorite flavor of popsicle. Her tongue wrapped around and laved along him in turns, paying special attention to the crown and making his eyes cross. Even so, she kept her mouth along the top half, using her hand to pump the base of his cock so that she was working its entire length in one way or another. As she twisted her wrist, causing him to grunt and buck forward, he dimly realized that’d been why she’d licked every inch of him before beginning, to make sure there was enough lubrication.

“Fuck, Jemma, fu- _uuuuck_ that’s it, _fuck_ yes, just like that,” he groaned out in a continuous litany, vaguely knowing that he sounded ridiculous but completely unable to care. “Your m-mouth is fucking perfect, and _oh, fuck_ , I – I –” He cut himself off with a stuttered gasp as she sucked harder, her eyes closed as if she was in the throes of passion herself.

His own words faded in through the thick cloud in his head, about how she loved homework more than life itself, and all of a sudden he realized why she knew exactly how to suck him off despite having no more experience than he.

“J-Jemma...?” It was supposed to be a question, but she hollowed out her cheeks as she dragged her lips and tongue up his shaft and his voice roughened mid-word. Fitz bit hard into his bottom lip, hips stuttering after her mouth, and tried to remember what the hell he’d wanted to say that warranted interrupting her. 

“Yes, Fitz?” The low, sultry tone of her voice had his breath hitching, her eyes fixed on his. As he tried to find the words he’d forgotten, Jemma rubbed her cheek against the head of his cock, her skin achingly smooth and pale next to his flushed length. Light shone faintly on the trail of saliva left on her cheek.

An odd, high-pitched noise escaped his throat, and when he tried to clear it, the resulting sound was rather like a growl. “You studied. For this. D-didn’t you?”

The smile that spread across her wet lips was a cross between bashful and smug, and rather than answer she wrapped her mouth around the head of his cock again. He moaned her name, staring at the way her lips pursed when she dragged her mouth away again.

“Preparation is my specialty,” she murmured, using her hand to pump his shaft as she lowered her mouth over him once more.

_And apparently your kink_ , he thought, unable to keep from imagining exactly when and how she’d prepared to drive him out of his mind with lust. Was it those magazines she’d been reading here, or had it been before they’d even left the Playground? His hips twitched under the hand she was using to steady him, and he realized he’d started chanting her name, in whispers, moans, and cries, whenever she pushed him as far inside her mouth as she could take him. As much as his entire world had narrowed to the feeling of her lips and tongue on his cock, Fitz desperately wanted to be driving her as crazy as she was driving him.

But he couldn’t reach her like this – there was no way to get her off from where he was sitting. A small moan escaped her throat as she slid her lips down to meet the edge of her fist, and he inhaled at the vibrations from the sound. Her eyes opened again, watching his mouth bow open in arousal as she bobbed her head up and down, and an idea wormed its way into his head. 

Taking a deep breath before he could speak, Fitz twisted his hands further into the cushions. “Jemma,” he rasped out, “please, _fuck_ , p-please take off your shirt. ‘N your bra- _aahhhh_...!” Her tongue did this thing as she pulled away that sent a jolt of heat straight through him, and he panted desperately as she separated from him with a soft pop. His hips gave an unconscious jerk upwards after her, chasing the feeling of her mouth.

“I should’ve known,” she murmured, a smile yet again on her lips.

But this time her mouth shone with saliva, lips a dark pink from use, and as she stretched up to slide the silk blouse over her head, Fitz felt like he was having an out of body experience. Something this erotic couldn’t possibly be happening to always-awkward, too-gangly engineer Leo Fitz. Beautiful, good girl prodigy Jemma Simmons couldn’t possibly be stripping her clothes off at his request before returning to sucking on his cock like it was the most interesting thing she’d ever studied.

When she reached around to undo the bra’s clasp, he glanced down at her rose-patterned knickers and wondered if she was getting wet while doing this for him. Probably, judging by the fact that she’d said this was a fantasy of hers, and the idea of that just turned him on even more.

Then she removed her bra, flinging it casually over the nearest chair along with her blouse, and he exhaled at the familiar sight of her bare breasts. It wasn’t just her boobs that had his attention – her whole posture right now was practically made to tempt him, although he wasn’t sure it was intentional: Kneeling but sitting back on her heels, underwear on but everything else bared, and hair just messy enough to disrupt up her normal primness and make her look perfectly debauched. The confidence to her movements was the sexiest thing about this, knowing that despite both their inexperience she was willing to experiment – and somehow knew exactly what to do to drive him crazy. Fitz suddenly wanted to be thrusting wildly inside her and making her moan in pleasure – but if he could keep his wits, he reminded himself, he might be able to achieve at least one of those while she worked him over with her mouth. 

As she turned back from removing her top, Jemma ran her hands up his thighs, then leaned down to chase a bead of precum with her tongue. His breath stuttered out of his chest, attention torn between the feeling of her touch and the sight of her breasts swaying slightly as she lifted her eyes. “Better?”

“Almost,” he muttered, turning one hand palm-up on the couch and sending out a gentle vibration through the air to seek out her clit. The response took less than a millisecond, for Jemma let out a shocked moan and dropped her head forward between his legs. He couldn’t judge the pressure by touch like this, so he tried to watch her face for clues as to how well he was doing.

Little cries eked out of her throat, and she dragged her gaze up to his, breathing heavily and eyes wild. “F-Fitz? Is that –” 

“It’s me, love,” he murmured, sending the vibration in a figure-eight pattern that he’d used the last time he got her off with his hands. “This alright?”

“Oh God, don’t stop,” she moaned, fingers tensing into his thigh muscles and her chest heaving raggedly. A sharp tremor rolled through her whole body, and he could see the tightness of her nipples as she rocked slightly forward. “A little –” She broke off with a gasp, eyes fluttering closed. “A – a little less, please...!” 

Inhaling, Fitz pulled back on the frequency, and almost immediately he could see her relax into the feeling. “P-perfect,” she breathed, hands sliding up and back down his thighs, her head falling back. “ _God_ , yes, that’s perfect, just like that –” Jemma cut off on a moan, shifting her legs further apart and raising slightly onto her knees so that her hips could give little thrusts in time with the vibrations.

Fitz groaned at the sight of her so lost in pleasure, even knowing that her movements were only a placebo of sorts. “You like that, Jemma?”

“ _Fuck,_ yes. I a-always knew you were a g-genius,” she panted, rolling her head forward to meet his gaze. Her eyes were hooded, tongue darting out to wet her lips before she descended on him once more, both hands slipping around to grasp his bum. His hips bucked upwards as her fingers sunk into the tensed flesh, pushing his cock further into her waiting mouth. A part of him wanted to skitter back, terrified of having gone too far, but the press of him against her tongue only caused Jemma to moan again and grip his ass a little tighter.

He hadn’t really taken into account the possibility that she’d continue once he’d started teasing her, and he was briefly certain that it was the best idea he’d ever had. Lost in feeling and instinct, Jemma’s body undulated before him, seeking out the invisible vibrations with her hips and her mouth sliding sloppily, eagerly over his cock. The exploratory phase seemed to have ended, as now she was just lowering her lips over him as far as she could go and then sucking firmly upwards, tongue curling around his length and making his eyes cross. He lost the battle to keep his hips as still as possible, then, her ministrations too fucking amazing for him to keep holding back. When he started giving slight, rhythmic rolls of his hips she just hummed in encouragement, squeezing his arse as she matched his rhythm with the movements of her mouth up and down.

For his part, Fitz was desperately trying to focus on first circling her clit, and then on sending a tentative vibration inside to stroke over her G-spot. But as she increased the speed of her rhthym over him, his ability to hold onto his powers began to slip, and as he realized this he was jolted with the fear of unintentionally hurting her. His hips gave a few stutters upwards and he desperately wanted to chase the feeling, knowing that if he let himself go it would be seconds before he came.

Inhaling sharply, he let go of his powers, instead curling his hands around to her shoulders. “ _Jemma_ , oh, f-fuck Jemma! I’m – g-gonna come, I’m r-right there – fuck, yes, _yes_...!” 

“No!” She pulled away from his cock with a desperate whimper, wiping her mouth and reaching shakily for his hand. “N-no, please, I’m so – _so_ close, Fitz, please, don’t stop –”

His hips gave an aborted thrust up at the halt to his orgasm’s build, and he groaned. “I c-can’t, Jemma, I can’t f-focus. Don’t wanna... hurt you.”

A low whine fell from her lips, and she shook her head as if trying to clear it. “I just n-need,” she murmured, removing one hand from him to slide her fingers into her knickers, “to come. So – so close....” Eyes dropping closed as she worked her fingers frantically against herself, her breath came out in uneven pants, making him shiver as it washed over his aching cock.

“Fuck,” he moaned, resisting the urge to follow her lead and just take himself in hand. It’d be unfair to both of them to just choose one person to come now, and he didn’t like the idea of them separating just to get themselves off. “Jemma, c’mere.” Reaching forward, he managed to get her attention long enough to pull her up for a messy, passionate kiss. 

“Please, Fitz,” she whispered against his lips, and he nodded, clumsily managing to help them both get to their feet.

“Condom,” he grunted in response to her confusion, leaning in for another kiss.

“Brilliant.” She sighed shakily in relief, leaning on the arm of the couch as he stumbled towards the bedside table. In his peripheral vision, he saw her drag her underwear off, briefly losing her balance as she kicked them away.

He felt drunk, his gait so uncoordinated that he needed to lean against the bed while he ripped open one of the foil packets. Even the slide of his own fingers as he rolled the condom on was enough to bring him dangerously close to the edge, and he exhaled. Blinking away the sheen of lust, he turned back to Jemma, who had managed to get as far as the dining table. Halted for some reason, she leaned forward over it for support, and he inhaled at the sight of her. Bare ass pushed out as she rested her hands on the table, limbs shaking from her aborted orgasm, and hair falling forward over her face all combined to make for the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Unable to wait any longer, Fitz made a beeline towards Jemma.

She half turned as he approached but he made a small noise of dissent, quickly pressing himself flush against her back. Although she’d been leaning over the table, he reeled her towards him, reveling in the shivers he felt radiating through her whole body. Reaching down to arc two fingers over her clit as he circled one of her nipples with his thumb, Fitz was briefly stunned yet again that he was allowed to do any of this – that _Jemma_ wanted him. A hitch in her breathing greeted his actions, her hips rolling forward in time with his fingers, and after a few seconds he slid his other hand up her ribs to encourage her to lean further over the table. Still just too high, he bent his legs slightly before nudging hers further apart so that he could press his cock against her slick heat. 

“Like this? Alright?” His voice rumbled out of his throat, barely recognizable to his own years, and she released a shivery little whimper.

“Yes, yes _please_.” Hitching herself further up on the table, she lost no time in pushing back against him, eliciting a harsh groan. Once he was properly aligned, he waited for her to give another slight buck against him before notching his cock into her entrance and sliding fully inside. Wanting to make sure that she wasn’t experiencing any of last night’s discomfort before he moved, he ground slowly inside her, his own eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. Her mouth was something he definitely wanted to experience again, but for the moment being inside her was his absolute favorite thing.

A long moan fell from Jemma’s lips, balancing on her tiptoes and her back arching to improve the angle as much as possible. The feeling of her inner walls grasping eagerly at his cock made him dizzy with arousal, and his left hand gripped her hip as firmly as possible. His other hand, trapped uncomfortably between the table and the apex of her thighs, returned to working quickly over her clit. Jemma whimpered, body shivering as he finally pulled out and drove back in again, her elbows and palms sliding against the table with the force of his thrusts.

“Yes yes _yes_ , Fitz, yes, there, yes, God! _Yes_!” As she chanted her approval, Fitz had the sudden thought that he wanted to watch her climax but wouldn’t be able to from this position. It was hard to feel too disappointed about that at this particular moment, but he’d try to store that information away for future reference: Having sex with Jemma was fantastic, but watching her enjoy it was even better. Taking a second to push lightly down on her back again so that he could bottom out inside her at every stroke, he returned to their fast, desperate pace.

“That’s right,” he grunted, hips thrusting him inside her dizzyingly fast and her hips rocking back against him at the just the right speed. “Oh, _fuck_ Jemma, you’re p-perfect!”

He could feel the tension coiling inside her, her voice raising in pitch as she cried out his name over and over again. With one more slick of his fingers around her clit, a sharp wail burst out of her throat and she tensed against him, muscles fluttering around his cock as she came.

“Oh-oh _fuck_ , baby girl,” he groaned, ceasing the motion of his fingers so that he could grasp her hips with both hands. “Fuck, _Jemma_ , that’s right, just like that...!” She’d told him to be loud at the beginning and he’d never really stopped, his brain barely functioning enough to press on in search of that climactic high. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, cock delving deeply inside her at every stroke, her tremors just feeding into the build of his own climax.

Her back arched as she moaned through the waves of her orgasm, perfecting the angle just enough that after a few more hard, frantic thrusts pleasure rocketed through Fitz as he followed her over the edge. With his cock buried inside her, she was so hot and tight around him that he could feel every last shiver of her climax, his own hips stuttering against hers to draw out that heady wash of feeling. His feet stumbled slightly forward and he leaned one hand on the table, eyes squeezed shut as he released inside her. They trembled together through their orgasms, his grasp keeping them pressed tightly against each other.

After what seemed like a long time, the last of his orgasm faded, and he dropped his forehead against Jemma’s shoulder. She was sweaty and panting, small puffs of condensation forming at her mouth from where her cheek was pressed to the cool table. His hand smoothed down her side, instinctively wanting to hold her properly even though that wasn’t remotely possible from this position, bent over the table as they were.

Taking a deep breath, Fitz turned his head to drop a few kisses along her spine, nuzzling at her skin. “Alright?”

Jemma hummed in response, and he glanced up just in time to see her eyes flutter shut. “ _So_ alright.”

“Bed?”

“Mmm yes, bed,” she repeated, appearing almost boneless as he separated them and snugged her up against his side to support her weight. Her arms wrapped automatically around him, and the kiss she dropped against his shoulder made him grin. Once he’d gotten her safely to the bed, he leaned over her for a second, needing to clear his head before he continued on his path to the bathroom.

As she scooted up on the mattress underneath him, panic darted through his gut at the sight of the harsh pink line across her navel, thanks to the press of the table’s edge. “Christ, Jemma,” he muttered, reaching down to skate his fingers gently over her skin. “Why didn’t you –”

“It didn’t hurt,” she said, and he made a sharp noise of disbelief. “It’s not... I mean, my attention was quite happily focused elsewhere,” she pointed out with an arched eyebrow. “I’m sure it’ll fade shortly. I get marks like that on my arms, too, when I’m just working at my desk. And this was a _far_ better reason for them.” The lazy smile she gave him eased his nerves, and he leaned into the hand she stroked along his cheek. “You’re sweet for asking.” After tilting his head to press a quick kiss to her palm, he shoved himself into a standing position and shuffled to the bathroom to clean up. “Could you get me some water, please?”

Fitz made a noise of assent, cleaning himself up and returning with a mug of water and a damp washcloth as quickly as possible. During his absence she’d scooted up to the head of the bed and curled up under the sheet, giving him a sweet smile as their eyes met. “Here you go,” he said, handing her the mug and then climbing over her to his side of the bed. As she drank, he wrapped himself around her, needing to be in as much contact with her as possible and not caring that they were both sweaty. A low chuckle reverberated from her chest through his cheek, and he tightened his arms, letting out a quiet hum.

“You’re never quite what I expect,” Jemma mused, stretching over to put her empty mug on the bedside table.

Moving slightly away so that she could make use of the washcloth, he frowned. “What?”

She gave him one of her slightly patronizing fond looks as she finished, and then turned to place the used cloth next to the mug. “I mean, Fitz, you can do... _that_ ,” she said, snuggling back up against him and letting him settle his head on her shoulder. “And, oh my, that was... something else. But then you’re like this afterwards.” Tilting his chin up with two fingers, she captured his lips with hers, caressing them slowly as her hand scratched through his hair. “I can’t ever imagine getting bored of you.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” he deadpanned, and she laughed. 

“It was a compliment!”

“So, you, ah, liked that?” Fitz knew it was an abrupt topic shift, but he was preoccupied. His hand slid down to trace over the table mark on her abdomen, upset that it was still noticeable. At the time, it hadn’t even occurred to him that she would be uncomfortable, she’d simply reacted so well to his suggestion. He made a mental note to be more careful in the future – he should’ve known that she might be hurt because of the way his own hand had been pressed against the table. And, he thought drily, Jemma wasn’t especially good about clarifying her feelings.

“Oh _God_ , yes,” she moaned right away, and he glanced up to see that her eyes had slipped closed as she leaned back against her pillow. “It was just... wow.”

“Um, good. Yeah.” A grin made itself across his face as he quickly gave up hope of any attempts to hide it, although his ears reddened anyway. She scooted down so that their faces were level, letting him pull her tightly against himself before leaning in to press their lips together.

“One thing though, Fitz.” Despite the small noise of curiosity he made, she didn’t continue, and he blinked open his eyes to see her smiling slyly at him. “Next time, don’t start something you can’t finish.”

His mouth gaped open and he stammered briefly over an answering argument that she _had_ finished. It took him a moment to realize that she wasn’t talking about the sex, however, but him using his powers on her. “I – with my powers?” 

She hummed, nuzzling in for more kisses. “You fixed it in the end, of course, but I was rather miffed when you stopped. To say the least.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, hiding his face against her neck. “I just wanted to make it good for you, because, um, i-it felt so bloody fantastic for me, and I... I didn’t think –”

“I know,” she interrupted, tilting his head back up again with her free hand. “We just... need some practice.” 

A snort-chuckle escaped from Fitz’s chest, and he grinned at her. “Well, at least I can honestly say I was working on my abilities while Lincoln was gone, yeah?”

Jemma tilted her head back as she laughed, eyes lighting up in mirth, and Fitz was struck by the thought that he wanted to spend the rest of his life eliciting that sound from her as often as possible. The “rest of his life” part of that was new, although he supposed it shouldn’t be – he’d known for far longer than he’d admitted it that no one else would ever mean more to him than Jemma Simmons. Someday, he thought, leaning in to kiss her again, he’d ask her officially to spend the rest of her life by his side. But that day was a very long way off yet, and despite the fervency of his feelings he knew that a week’s worth of a romantic relationship did not warrant a proposal. 

In the midst of their kiss, a yawn stuttered out of her mouth, and when he opened his eyes, eyebrow raised, she was blushing. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “But I think a nap’s in order.”

Taking a moment to twist around and set the bedside clock’s alarm, Fitz then turned back and happily let Jemma snuggle up against his chest. “I think I can arrange that,” he said, jaw stretching in a yawn of his own. “Busy day.”

A chuckle working out of her throat, Jemma hummed her agreement. They were silent for a few, long moments, both of them quickly fading towards unconsciousness. 

“Oh, Fitz?”

“Mmm?”

“I rather liked sucking your cock, and I’d like to do it again soon.” 

He choked on his next breath, coughing awkwardly until he caught his breath. When he glanced down at her, her eyes were closed and a smirk curled up the ends of her lips. 

“You really _are_ a deviant, Jemma Simmons,” he muttered, relaxing back into her hold. 

“I learned from the best,” she blithely replied, and he frowned in confusion. Glancing up at his expression, she rolled her eyes. “I meant you, you dolt.”

“Oh. Right.” Normally, Fitz wouldn’t let her teasing of him go so easily, but the endorphin high from his orgasm was fading, and he couldn’t force himself to think of something clever enough. So instead, he said nothing at all, closing his eyes and snugging Jemma more tightly against himself, taking comfort in the radiating warmth of her body and the rhythmic lift of her chest.

 

\------

 

Somehow, Fitz didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of watching Jemma do inane, everyday things. All she was doing was curling her hair before they headed to the mess hall for lunch, but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. It didn’t hurt that he’d had the most incredible climax of his entire life less than two hours prior, but he thought it was mostly just seeing her be herself. 

“What?” She was watching him in the mirror, her own lips tilting upwards as she wrapped a new strand of hair around the iron.

“Nothing, just...” he trailed off, having actually been wondering how to phrase a question as he watched her. “Can I ask... when we were – y’know. You told me to be loud.” His face warmed at the memory, and he had to clear his throat before he continued. “I was just, um, wondering... why? I mean, it’s not like, uh, I’ve been exactly quiet, y’know... the other times....” Considering how uncomfortable he felt asking _her_ this, he took a second to thank everything that was holy that no one else ever had to hear this conversation.

“Oh! That’s simple, really,” she said, turning back to the mirror. “To make it more like the dream.” Glancing at him in the mirror, she caught his confused frown. “You always looked different in each dream, you see – sometimes in the same dream, even. Sometimes your hair was longer, or you were skin and bones like when you arrived at the Academy –” She chuckled at his indignant squawk, standing and unplugging the curling iron. “And so on. But your voice was always the same. In the dreams. That’s how I really _knew_ it was you, every time.” 

A grin spread across his face as he watched her reach for her boots. “So my voice really does turn you on, eh? Is it the Scottish burr?”

Letting out a small snort, she strode over to where he stood by the door and curled her hands into the edges of his jumper. “Sometimes,” she allowed, rolling her eyes when his smile widened. “But it’s not just that. Your voice....” Her eyebrows creased as she paused in thought, tugging lightly at the woven cloth. “It’s just – you. I hear it and I feel like... like I’m home.” 

Fitz just stared down at her, mouth parted in surprise. The question had been more of an absent curiosity than anything else; he hadn’t expected her to respond so sincerely. Particularly to a question that was effectively about her _sex dreams_ , of all things. One of her hands slid up to rest over the center of his chest, and he thought she must feel the way his heart was beating rapidly.

“It’s not just a... an attraction thing,” she continued, a light flush coloring her cheeks. “It made me feel like I could try – um, _that_ , for the first time. And even if I made a mistake –” He interrupted her with an incredulous guffaw, and she pushed against him with a smile. “– I knew it would be okay. And maybe I like hearing you lose control. Just a little.” 

“Oh, so that’s how it is,” he said, voice a little gruff as he tried to downplay how touched he was by her words. “Always about control with you English.” 

“You know you liked it.” Stretching up on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss, she then turned and tugged him towards the door. 

“Don’t hear me complaining, do you?” His grin only grew as she rolled her eyes at him.

“Oh! I meant to say earlier,” she started, falling into step alongside him. “Are nicknames going to be a thing for you?”

He frowned, having lost the thread of her thought completely. “What? What nicknames?”

Jemma raised an eyebrow and leaned in. “Baby girl – you’ve said it twice, now. Mid-coitus.” 

After resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her use of the word _coitus_ , he tried to parse back through the memories of last night and this morning. “Really?”

She hummed in assent, eyes twinkling slightly in the sunlight. “I’ve heard you say it in the lab a hundred times, of course, when you’re working. Can’t say I ever expected to hear it directed at me.” 

His ears flushed, and he stared down at his trainers. Although he knew he occasionally muttered to his drones or other projects, it wasn’t exactly intentional. “I’m, ah, sorry, Jemma, it won’t....”

A low tsk interrupted him, and he caught a glimpse of a blush on her cheeks. “Oh, no. Nothing, um, to be sorry about. I was just... surprised. You can, ah, do that again. If you’d like.”

Her fingers fiddled with the top button on her blouse, and a wide grin split his face. “Oh _really_?”

“Yes,” she said, shooting him a bashful smile, “but... just in the bedroom.” 

“I think I can keep to that,” he replied, forcing himself not to bounce on his toes as amusement spread through his chest. If he knew Jemma as well as he thought she did, her understatement meant that she’d _really_ liked hearing it, in her words, mid-coitus. Perhaps next time he’d have to try to use the phrase intentionally.

As Fitz linked fingers with Jemma, he noted how rested he felt now, after their nap – how much better he slept when she was by his side. Until moving onto the Bus, he’d always slept like a rock, for which she’d teased him since their Academy days (when she’d had to blast music under his door at full volume more than once to rouse him). But since the day she’d almost died from the Chitauri virus, he’d turned into a restless sleeper, and the brain injury had only exacerbated the problem. With Jemma curled into his arms, though, he returned immediately to his familiar sleeping pattern, his subconscious clearly feeding off of her steady, physical presence.

The loose swing of her arms by her side made his lips tick up; he didn’t think he’d ever seen her quite so relaxed. If having multiple orgasms in less than twenty-four hours was all it took to make her calm and happy, he’d be thrilled to continue to oblige. He was about to tell her just that, in fact, when Gordon appeared in front of them in an azure blaze. A gash on his forehead bled, and he looked truly shaken. Considering the Inhuman’s perennial calm, Fitz felt a sharp tinge of fear slide into his gut.

“Gordon!” Jemma was the first to react, reaching instinctively towards the wound (higher than her though it might be). “You’re hurt, let me –” Despite the fact that he shouldn’t be able to see her, Gordon flinched from her touch.

“What happened?”

Breathing raggedly and leaning forward on his hands, Gordon responded to Fitz. “They’ve got Lincoln. Hydra.” 

“Hydra!” Jemma and Fitz both exclaimed this at the same time, and were the subject anything else it would have been comical.

“What would they want –”

“They were experimenting on people with powers,” Jemma interrupted Fitz, and his mouth dropped into a silent “ _oh_.” Of course she knew – she’d been privy to their latest (if not highest security) scientific endeavors. If he’d managed to have one, normal conversation with her in the lab in the weeks since her return, he might have known that information already. (In truth, he’d been avoiding talking to her about her time undercover, any mention of it an acute reminder of when he’d first worried that she’d been killed, or of when he’d later assumed she’d abandoned him.) 

Fitz swallowed, turning his attention back to Gordon. “What’re we going to do?”

The taller man just shook his head and straightened. “Nothing. It’s too dangerous for any of us to go near them – we’re what they want. I have to go –”

“We can’t just leave him there!” Staring aghast at Gordon, Fitz felt Jemma’s hand curl around his wrist, thumb rubbing soothingly over his sleeve.

“SHIELD was there,” Gordon offered, turning as if to glance in the direction that he wanted to go. “I think one of theirs was taken, too. And I’m sure they’ll want to add him to their list,” he added bitterly. “It’s no use in us going and risking our lives – risking what they could do with our abilities.” 

“Take us to SHIELD, then,” Jemma said, taking a small step forward. “Fitz has been here long enough to heal properly, and –” 

“We can’t stay here forever,” he finished for her, giving her a brief nod of agreement. “We can tell our friends that he needs our help.”

“Assuming they’re okay.” Jemma murmured this, pulling her bottom lip nervously between her teeth, and a wash of guilt ran over Fitz. In the days since arriving at Afterlife, he’d gotten so distracted by both his own recovery and learning curve, as well as the turn in his relationship with Jemma, that he’d spent very little time at all worrying about what was happening to their friends back at the base. She was right, of course – all they could do right now was assume, and since they knew that Lincoln was in trouble he had to be their focus. 

“Once you’ve left, you can’t both come back.” Gordon glanced over his shoulder, as if he were late for something. “I’ll come for you, Fitz, if you call me, but I won’t bring her here again.”

“Then I just won’t come back,” he retorted, confident that he wouldn’t want to spend more time here anyway. As happy as he was here with Jemma, he, too, had been painfully lacking in proper mental stimulation while away from the lab. Besides, the Inhumans’ continued aversion to Jemma just because she wasn’t one of them was beginning to grate on him.

“Okay, then get your things. I’ll meet you back here in twenty minutes,” Gordon said, already striding away to the other side of the commune. 

Twenty minutes later on the dot, Gordon grabbed ahold of both their arms and after a distinct, blue flash the four of them were standing in an empty hallway outside of the Playground’s hangar.

“Be careful, Fitz,” Gordon warned, “remember that you’re not like them any more. If you need me, call.” With that, he disappeared, the brightness making them both wince. 

Pulling up the handle to her suitcase, Jemma exhaled, turning alongside Fitz to stare down the gloomy, brick-lined hall. “Home sweet home,” she deadpanned, and a dry chuckle sounded from his throat. The noise echoed in the empty hall, and he was struck with the realization that the only weapon they had at their disposal – should something have gone terribly wrong here after all – was him. 

Once he’d settled the strap of his duffel more securely across his shoulder, he led the way towards the center of the base, with Jemma following closely behind. The familiar hum of the base’s air filtration system dulled the sound of their footsteps, and Fitz thought wryly that they certainly weren’t in Afterlife anymore.


	13. Will you follow through if I fall for you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [Like A River Runs (Jack's 2015 Rework)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKW8Xws7TdU) by Bleachers.

Footsteps approached from around the first corner that they rounded, and Fitz paused mid-stride, reaching a hand in front of Jemma. She slowed to a halt at his signal, and he raised his other hand, palm forward as he’d gotten used to doing when he used his powers. As the voice neared, however, he realized that it was a familiar one.

“The team can be ready to leave in three hours, but I dunno what we’ll do for tech support.” As Skye turned the corner her brows were furrowed in thought, clothes far more casual than she usually wore around the base and hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

Rolling up his sleeves as he walked, Coulson exhaled. “We’ll have to bring at least one Koenig, but they’re _really_ not field....” He trailed off as he saw the way Skye had stopped short, her mouth dropping open and eyes widening as she stared at the two people in front of her.

Fitz half-raised one hand in greeting, but before he could say anything she’d sprinted forward and promptly crashed into both him and Jemma, wrapping one arm around each. Only just barely managing to keep the three of them from tumbling to the ground, Fitz steadied Jemma beside him with one hand and curled the other around Skye’s shoulder. She was sort of cutting off his oxygen with the tightness of her grip around his neck, and he’d been yanked awkwardly down to compensate for both her height and her hold around Jemma, but he grinned anyway.

“Holy shit you guys are okay,” Skye mumbled into Jemma’s hair, finally taking a step back but keeping a hand on them both. “What the _hell_ happened to you?! Where have you been?!”

“You didn’t get a....” Just as Fitz was about to be annoyed that Gordon had clearly never delivered the message he’d promised, a wave of nausea rolled through him at the sight of the face that had just rounded the corner.

Wearing a brown leather jacket and a slick smile, Grant Ward strode towards them.

A subtle tremor rolled through the Playground’s bricks.

Then Fitz realized that Trip and May flanked him, and Trip had a pistol held to the former agent’s head. Fitz breathed deeply, pushing down any further potential panic, and the hallway shuddered no more. 

Skye followed Fitz’s gaze, and exhaled, pushing hair away from her face. “Yeah, that’s a long story.” 

“It better be a bloody good one,” Jemma gritted out, and Fitz glanced over to see that her entire body was frozen, hands curled into fists at her side.

“Mike was taken by Hydra,” Skye explained.

“Mike – Mike Peterson?” Coulson nodded back at Fitz in response, and he glanced down at Jemma, who just shook her head. “He’s working with SHIELD again?”

“ _Oh_ , Fitz,” Jemma interrupted, resting one hand on his arm to draw his attention. “Gordon said Hydra got one of _theirs_ as well. That must be –”

“– What he meant,” he finished for her, turning back to the others. “Did you see anyone else get captured?”

“Tall, blond hair, generically attractive,” she added, and then rolled her eyes at the indignation that bloomed on Fitz’s face. (But really, was Lincoln’s attractiveness strictly relevant at the moment? He didn’t think so.)

“Oh yeah,” Skye said, glancing at Coulson for confirmation. “Pikachu.”

“Guy with electricity,” Trip translated for her, and she glared good-naturedly back at him.

“That’s him,” Fitz said. “Lincoln. He’s our friend, that’s why we’re here. To rescue him.”

A tense silence faded over the group as Coulson glanced back at where May stood silently next to her charge. At the director’s nod, she grabbed onto Ward’s arm and yanked him forward, with Trip following closely behind, gun held high. 

Before the three of them could pass by, however, Fitz cleared his throat. “Uh, May....” He had to remind himself that her current stony expression was likely because of the man she was guarding and not him, but it took him a beat before he could remember what he’d wanted to say. “Thanks for calling. Um, before. Wouldn’t have gotten out in time otherwise.”

The corners of her lips twitched up, and she gave him a brusque nod before striding past, Ward in tow.

“Hope you guys have a good story to tell,” Trip said with his customary grin, and Fitz had to fight the awkward cough that tickled at the back of his throat. _Probably, but it’s R-rated_. 

Once the three of them were gone, Coulson turned back to Fitz with a penetrating look. “How’s your control?” 

Clenching his jaw, Fitz gave him a tight nod. “Good.” 

“Yeah?”

Fitz tried not to let the surprise in the Director’s voice irk him. After all, the last time he’d been at the base he’d barely gone a few hours at a time without shaking the whole building. “Yes, sir.”

“Good enough to go into the field?” When Coulson turned to Skye with an exasperated look, she just rolled her eyes. “C’mon, D.C. – do you really want to bring _Koenigs_ with us into the field? I’d rather have a quaky Fitz by my side than a Koenig any day.”

“Thanks,” Fitz shot back, tone dry.

The director scrubbed one hand over his face and exhaled. “Alright, what about it, Fitz? You think you can handle your powers while disabling Hydra’s defense systems?” 

He let out a small scoff. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Good. Suit up, we’ll leave in three hours –”

“I’d like to come, too.” The other three turned to Jemma, who had been quiet since May, Trip, and Ward’s departure. “On the mission.” 

“I appreciate the offer, but –” Coulson started, but Jemma cut him off.

“You’ll need expert medical assistance in the field, and, as skilled as Agent Triplett is, I’m far more familiar with Deathlok’s anatomical structure. I’m also familiar with Lincoln’s abilities, should he have need of treatment.” 

After giving Skye a brief glance, Coulson nodded. “Alright then. Welcome to the mission, Agent Simmons. Skye, get them up to speed – I need to debrief Gonzalez.”

As the director strode off down the hall, Fitz turned to Skye with a frown. “Who’s Gonzalez?”

Letting out a low chuckle, Skye started walking backwards towards the residence halls. “Man, have you guys missed a _lot_.”

When she turned forward, continuing to talk as they went, Fitz reached out to take Jemma’s hand. Just before he reached her, though, she pulled away to grab her suitcase’s handle, and he tried to ignore the thin vein of hurt that wormed its way into his stomach.

 

\------

 

Fitz knew he was overreacting; he knew he was, but he couldn’t help himself. Once Skye had finished debriefing them on both the mission and the fact that there had briefly been two separate SHIELDs (which he still didn’t completely understand, but since Skye didn’t seem to either he pushed it to the back of his mind), she’d left them in the residence hallway. Then Jemma had turned to go to her bunk with a small smile at him – and nothing else. For days now, any time they were going to be separated for more than thirty seconds she’d kissed him, or squeezed his hand, or done _something_ , and so the complete lack of affection had startled him.

Worse, when he knocked on her door so they could walk to the lab together, she had already left her bunk. As if she’d simply forgotten that he would be on his way to the lab, too, to check on the division’s work while they’d been away. (In Fitz’s case, he was mostly going there for lack of anywhere else to go – his work in the garage had been packed up long before he’d actually left for the cabin.) So he’d strode stiffly to the lab, made a few, stilted enquiries of the scientists currently on shift, and then sunk into a desk chair with his arms crossed, trying not to let his anxiety get out of hand. But he couldn’t stop worrying that maybe Jemma would only want to be with him away from the Playground, even if a part of him tried to tell himself that he was being stupid. Things had been so different between them while they were away; perhaps she’d fall back into the way they used to be. The idea of reverting to the awkward silences and separate rooms made him nauseous. Had he been foolish to think that everything had changed between them permanently? 

As he tried to breath through the panic, he had the wry thought that – considering the level of his current anxiety – at least he wasn’t shaking the bloody lab apart. Had he been this tense before going to Afterlife, the whole room would be quaking by now. But his powers roiled within his chest, tamed, mirroring his fear only in their presence and not in action.

By the time Jemma bustled into the lab holding a small black case a few minutes later, Fitz had convinced himself not to say anything at all. He would just seem clingy if he did, and that would surely chase her further away. The idea of unintentionally driving her away again filled his chest with a desperate, depthless ache, and the crease in his brow deepened.

“You were fast,” she said cheerfully, placing the case on the table next to where he sat and then reaching for a nearby file. “I thought you’d be in the shower for at least....” Her voice trailed off as she caught his defensive posture, and her brows drew together. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he muttered quickly, reaching out to poke at the case’s clasp. “What’s this?”

Silence fell, the quiet patter of feet moving towards the door echoing between them. 

“Fitz.” Her tone was soft but worried, and in his peripheral vision he could see her shuffle a couple steps forward. “I can tell something’s bothering you.” A light huff slipped out of her throat, and he glanced up to watch her curl a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re not being especially subtle about it.”

“Really,” he said, trying to seem more nonchalant, “doesn’t matter.”

“Please.” Jemma whispered this, glancing around to see that most of the other scientists had left before reaching out to brush her fingers against his wrist. “Let me help.” 

Darting his eyes up to hers and away again, Fitz tightened his arms across his chest. “I was just... wasn’t sure what you wanted to do now that we’re back. About us. You, um,” he said, clearing his throat. “You moved away from me, before. Earlier. When I was gonna... so. Wasn’t sure.”

When he forced himself to meet her gaze, the expression she wore was one of distinct surprise and confusion. After a few seconds, an awkward laugh burst out of her chest and she, too, crossed her arms. “About _us_... Fitz, honestly. What did you think, that I was just using you for sex and now that we’re back....” Her voice trailed off as he rolled his eyes, and she exhaled. Before Fitz had really noticed her movement, Jemma was sliding onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He froze at first, ears reddening as he glanced over to where their co-workers no longer were. As she settled herself on his thigh, he straightened from his slouch and curled one arm around her hip. Once settled, she entwined the fingers of one hand with his spare one. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, until finally she leaned forward, pressed her forehead against his, and closed her eyes.

“I was just trying to be professional,” she whispered, breath fanning over his lips. “We haven’t really talked about the possibility of section seventeen, and I... I didn’t think about how that would feel. To you.” Nuzzling forward, she pressed in for a slow, gentle kiss, and the knot in Fitz’s chest began to dissipate. He took a shaky breath, but she continued before he could speak. “I’m _with_ you, Fitz. In the lab or Afterlife or anywhere.”

Blinking quickly, he broke her gaze again, pressing his face against her cheek. “I just – the last time we were here, Jemma... I don’t want to go back. I never want to go back to that.”

She was quiet for another few moments, letting him hold her close as he tried to fully let go of his irrational panic. In truth, the worst months of his entire life had been spent in this lab, throughout the hardest part of his recovery. It seemed too good to be true that now something so good and pure – his budding romantic relationship with Jemma – could happen in a place that had once felt like the very embodiment of his pain.

“We’re not elastic, Fitz,” she murmured at last, drawing his gaze back up to her. “We can bend and change without going back.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, sliding his thumb methodically against the side of her hand. “Yeah, I know.” He hated that he needed that reassurance, the logical part of him more than ready to be able to simply trust that Jemma would be by his side from now on. Telling her was a step in the right direction, he tried to convince himself, leaning in for another kiss. At least they were talking about things that had once sent them both skittering away in fear. 

They lingered there for more than a few moments, with Fitz allowing himself the luxury of kissing Jemma to soothe his nervousness. Her lips were probably the cure for most ills, he thought briefly, his own quirking into a smile against her mouth.

“There,” she murmured eventually, scratching her fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “Nothing to worry about.” He hummed in agreement, breaking into a full grin when she paused and then wrinkled her nose. “Well, other than the mission, that is.” To his disappointment, she sighed and extricated herself from his hold, smoothing down her blouse as she stood. “I don’t understand why Coulson would take Ward on a mission. It’s simply too dangerous!”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes narrowing at the memory of the man whose face he’d hoped to never see again. “I know we work for a spy agency, but that’s a bit rich. Asking us to work with someone who... who....” She glanced back at him over her shoulder, and he leaned back in the chair. “We’ll have enough to worry about with Hydra, on top of protecting ourselves from him.” 

With a terse nod, Jemma reached for the case she’d just carried into the lab. “Indeed. Although I think I have a better way.” Flicking open the seals, she turned the case around and tilted it down to show him.

Before he looked inside, though, he got distracted with the distinctly... intriguing expression she now wore. It was determined, with a hint of defiance that he found all too appealing. Blinking, he reminded himself that now was not the time to be thinking about dragging her into a supply closet, and he turned to take in the contents of the case. 

“Splinter bombs,” he murmured, frowning up at her. 

“Simply find Ward alone, stick one of these on, and poof! No more Ward.” Her voice was eerily pleasant for saying something so patently unlike herself, and something cold settled into his stomach.

“Are you... you’re serious.”

“Ward is a threat to every agent working in SHIELD,” she explained calmly, reaching for an individual carrying case and settling one bomb inside. “Isn’t it at least our responsibility to arm ourselves against him?”

Watching the way she smoothly put the rest of the splinter bombs aside, Fitz tried to articulate what had him so worried by her words. He’d thought similar things – worse things – about Ward since waking up from his coma. But when facing the man who’d nearly ruined his life, when holding the tablet that controlled Ward’s very breath in his hands, Fitz had realized that killing him wasn’t worth it. Ward had been imprisoned, and at the time Fitz had believed he would be indefinitely: Killing him would only have served to haunt Fitz further. So he’d let Ward go.

With the other man effectively on the loose again, however, Fitz wasn’t sure how he felt.

“I, um... yeah, I – guess. _Arming_ yourself. That’s all.”

“Of course,” she said smoothly, tucking the larger case out of the way and neatly aligning the carry-case with the edge of the desk, as she always did with things she intended to take with her out of the lab. Concern settled in his gut, though, and he wasn’t able to disguise it when she turned to see him watching her. “What is it?” 

Fitz parted his mouth, intending to caution her against doing anything rash, but the words stuck in his throat. “Nothing,” he said at last, dropping his gaze to his lap. “Just – this’ll be my first time back in the field since....” He lifted his arms slightly. “Y’know.”

Two slim hands slid into his, and when he looked up Jemma was giving him that soft smile again, the one he’d begun to notice her wearing quite often around him.

“You’re a brilliant engineer, Fitz,” she murmured, staring earnestly down at him. “That’s why you’re going. You’re the best person for the job – human or no.” She squeezed his hands at that, and he chuckled. He gave brief thought to pointing out that his worries weren’t so much about being able to do his job as they were about keeping himself steady under pressure, but the unwavering confidence in her expression made him decide to hold back. Sometimes, all he needed was the reminder that she believed in him.

“Thanks, Jemma.” His voice was soft, and on impulse he raised one of her hands to press a kiss to her knuckles.

A few moments passed with them just watching each other, a half-smile on his face, until Jemma ducked her head. “Don’t let that go to your head now,” she teased, reaching around him to grab a file folder. “Wouldn’t want it getting any bigger than it already is.” Fitz rolled his eyes and unfurled himself from his chair. “Come on then, we’ve got work to do before wheels up.” 

Grabbing the folder she handed over, he paused behind her, sliding one hand around her hip and leaning in to brush his lips against her neck. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, signifying that their coworkers had returned from whatever errand they’d run, and he stepped away to look at the file. Once they were back from the mission, they’d need to come to an agreement on Section 17 and how to behave around each other at work versus in their free time. But for the moment, Fitz was much happier knowing that they were on the same page in their relationship, and he would happily keep his hands to himself in the intervening time.

 

\------

 

When it came time for them to change into their tactical gear, Jemma made the suggestion that they change separately and then meet in the locker room. At the time Fitz hadn’t thought much of it, but when he strode into the locker room he was completely unprepared for the sight of his girlfriend in skin-tight black clothes. His libido flared to life and he swallowed, thinking vaguely about how much easier things had been when he hadn’t been attracted to her. Hearing the slight swish of his tactical gear trousers, she turned from her locker long enough to give him a smile and then returned to arranging her bag. 

“I saw Coulson on my way here. He said we’re on schedule to leave in half an hour.”

A few seconds passed before he answered, voice thick as he tried to curb the urge to pick her up and carry her bodily back to his room. (This was _ridiculous_ , he tried telling himself – when had everything between them become about sex? _Probably since we started having it_ , an annoying little voice taunted in the back of his head.)

“Uh, yeah, good.”

Fortunately, before his mind could wander too far down an XXX-rated path, Skye poked her head around the doorway. “Hey, you just about ready?” 

Trip sidled up behind her, gear bag slung over one shoulder and a familiar smile on his face. “Man, it’s so nice to have you guys back.”

“Just need a sec,” Fitz said, reaching over to open his locker door. “Looks like you’re all better.” He gave a quick wave of his hand towards Trip’s abdomen, and his friend glanced down. 

“Oh, yeah. Luckily my doctor’s a perfectionist, so it healed right up.” Jemma gave Trip an amused hush.

“But really, Jemma,” Skye said drily as she dropped her bag and slung a leg over the bench to sit down. “He’s gonna have a scar –”

“Aw, c’mon girl –”

“And he’s real upset about it –”

“Really, I’m n–”

“Just think about how much harder it’s gonna be for him to meet girls!”

“She’s just playin’,” Trip said firmly, and Fitz caught him giving Skye a light shove. “It looks great, Jemma.”

Having packed everything he needed, Fitz closed his locker door and turned to give Jemma a pointed look over the top of her bag. She glanced over at their two friends, raised an eyebrow back at him, and returned to the careful reorganization of her medical kit.

“Fuck, I have so much to tell you guys,” Skye said with a low laugh, carding fingers through her bangs. When Fitz turned, settling his bag over one shoulder, he noticed uncharacteristic dark circles under her eyes. Although none of them had exactly been well rested since Hydra’s takeover, he didn’t think he’d seen her look so exhausted since she’d been recovering from her gunshot wound. “So, uh – my mom’s alive.” 

“What?”

“Really?” Jemma spoke at the same time as Fitz, both of them turning to her in unison, and he ignored the chuckle Trip muffled behind a fist.

“Yeah,” Skye breathed, glancing down at the bench in front of her. “There’s this, um, retreat, I guess, where people like – um, us,” she said, pausing to nod at Fitz, “go, to learn about other people who have the potential to change. And then they recover there, after it happens. They took me there a few times – this guy can _teleport_ , it’s crazy. And my mom’s like –”

“Hang on,” Fitz interrupted, voice cracking in surprise. “ _You_ were at Afterlife?!”

Skye’s mouth dropped open, taking in both his and Jemma’s dumbfounded expressions. “Wait, that’s where _you_ were?!” 

“Yeah!” Fitz took a few, excited steps forward. “Gordon’s the one who saved me when the other SHIELD came to the cabin. I can’t believe they... didn’t tell....” Voices from outside the locker room distracted him, and he trailed off at the sight of Ward leaning against a doorway kitty-corner from the locker room. Holding his hand was Agent 33, Kara Palamas, who Fitz hadn’t met but whose story Hunter had told him on the way to the residence hall from the lab a few minutes prior. One SHIELD guard in full tactical gear stood a few feet away, and just barely visible in the nearby shadows was May, eyes trained steadily on Ward.

Fitz turned at an abrupt movement in his peripheral vision to see Skye standing by the bench, jaw and fists clenched. Before she could even get to the doorway, though, Trip was in front of her, a pacifying hand held between them as he muttered something too quiet for Fitz to hear. The silence between them was tense as she stared around Trip at their former teammate, and Fitz caught Jemma’s subtle movement towards the grip of her ICER. With a sharp exhale, Skye shook her head and stalked out of the room in the opposite direction from Ward. Giving Fitz and Jemma an apologetic quirk of his mouth, Trip jogged after her.

“Hunter told me about that earlier,” Fitz said, breaking the silence and drawing Jemma’s hardened gaze away from Ward. “Him and Agent Palamas. Apparently they’re in love with each other.”

With a scoff, Jemma zipped up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Whatever that is,” she said, striding to the door, “it’s not love.”

Fitz let out a low “yeah,” but was halted from his progress by the sight of her reaching one hand out to him. A wide smile spread across his face before he could stop himself, and he had to force his mouth back into a neutral expression as he threaded their fingers together. While they followed in their friends’ footsteps on the way to the hangar, leaving Ward to follow behind them with his guards, Fitz felt a niggle of worry about the mission on which they were embarking. But then Jemma stroked her thumb absently over his skin, and, for at least a few seconds, everything felt okay.

“I wonder if there’s something going on between Trip and Skye,” she mused as they rounded the end of the loading dock. Skye had evidently just rebuffed Trip’s concern again and he was staring after her as she adjusted her gear, his brows furrowed. “Have you _seen_ the way he looks at her?”

“Course I have,” Fitz said as they approached the others. “I’ve got eyes, y’know.”

Coulson gave them both a terse nod, everyone’s attention shifting immediately to where Ward and May proceeded up the gangplank. The former agent had an almost sheepish smile on his face as he strode towards the group, glancing at them each in turn and ending on Fitz. A cool vein of hatred wormed its way up through his chest, and he took wry comfort in knowing that he could literally tear Ward limb from limb now if he so chose.

“So,” Ward said at last, giving Fitz a slight nod, “how’ve you been?” His gaze landed on where Fitz’s hand was still entwined with Jemma’s, and his eyebrows lifted as he glanced back up. “Good?”

If anyone asked, Fitz would say that he didn’t know what came over him. But in reality, all of a sudden he’d had a fervent urge to pummel Ward’s face to a pulp with his bare hands, powers be damned, and Fitz launched himself forward. Fortunately for everyone, Trip and Skye were faster than he, and they were dragging him backwards before Jemma could even call out his name in distress. When Trip shoved Fitz towards the familiar spiral staircase, he caught a glimpse of Ward looking genuinely shaken, as if he hadn’t expected that kind of anger.

 _You should’ve expected it_ , Fitz thought bitterly, taking deep breaths as Jemma caught up with him. _You damn near ruined my life_. Her fingers curled around his forearm, he gave her a quick nod, and then gestured that she should precede him up the stairs, not wanting Ward to see her comforting him. Glancing back at where the others stood between him and their former teammate, he let out a sharp noise of disgust before following her. _You almost killed the_ love _of my life when she insisted on dragging me with her. I’ll_ never _forgive you, you bastard._

Once upstairs, Jemma tugged Fitz by the wrist to her old bunk, and he followed, focus shot as adrenaline coursed through his veins. As he watched her shut the door, he dimly noted that his powers weren’t spinning out of control despite his rage – instead, they’d formed a tight ball at the center of his chest, waiting for him to call them to action. He was distracted from that thought by Jemma wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him against her. 

“What’s this for?” he mumbled into her hair, knowing it was a stupid question as soon as it was out of his mouth. 

“Fitz,” she admonished quietly.

“Yeah. I know.” Circling his arms around her in return, he drew in slow breaths, feeling the way his pulse evened out the longer he was in her presence. After a few moments, Jemma nuzzled up to feather kisses along his jaw and cheek, and his lips curved into a smile. She’d figured out so quickly how to soothe him with just her touch in the past couple of weeks, and noticing that _almost_ made him forget about the anger that had coursed through him not long before. He sighed, leaning into her embrace. Almost.

“You won’t have to worry about Ward for much longer,” she murmured, leaning back and patting him affectionately on his Kevlar-padded chest.

“Yeah, the mission will be done soon.” Quirking her lips up at the corner, she turned to open the door. As he watched her, Fitz realized that she might not have been talking about the mission at all.

The lead-up to take off was tense for everyone, especially because Fitz was never quite sure where Ward was going to be – although he did notice that either May or Trip were always close behind him. Perhaps unsurprisingly, talking to Skye helped to distract Fitz the longest, since Jemma had reverted to silence as soon as they were in the common areas again. Her hand hovered near his most of the time, however, and she curled her pinky finger into his whenever she was certain Ward couldn’t see them.

“You would’ve been so proud,” Skye said, throwing Trip a grin. “And I still can’t believe you figured out how to use the 3D printer.” 

Arms crossed over his chest, Trip shrugged. “Used to hang out in the lab sometimes. S’not that hard.” He grinned. “And no one was looking at the box too closely.”

“That’s really impressive,” Jemma said, tightening her hand around Fitz’s, and he nodded his agreement. “Tricking Bobbi _and_ Mack....”

“Oh no, you should’ve seen our fight –” 

“Now _that_ was impressive,” Skye chuckled. Shifting so that her arms were crossed identically to Trip’s, she lowered her voice in a surprisingly apt imitation of him. “I’m not gonna leave SHIELD, Skye, just because _you_ don’t know what loyalty means –”

Devolving into laughter, Trip gave her shoulder a small shove. “What about you, with your ‘never should’ve trusted the men in the black suits’ thing? Oh, and, did she tell you that she hacked her way into Fury’s toolbox _in the men’s bathroom_?” 

Skye gave them a cheeky smile. “What? The line for the women’s was too long.” 

“Well done, Skye,” Fitz said, nudging her shoulder with his free hand, and her eyes lit up at his praise.

“Yeah, you know, I’m pretty badass like that.” Glancing around, presumably to make sure Ward wasn’t in sight, she scooted a few inches closer to Fitz. “Hey, I didn’t get a chance to ask at the base. How’re you doing – with, you kn....” Footsteps sounded on the carpet, and Ward strode into the comms room, May following closely behind. Skye let out an unsubtle noise of frustration, pivoting towards the table. “He’s like Candyman.”

After giving Fitz’s hand one last squeeze, Jemma followed Skye to the center table, but Fitz hung back rather than join them. Leaning against a glass panel, he thought that he might be less inclined to throttle Ward if he was as far away from him as possible in the confined space of the plane.

He was wrong.

The longer Ward spoke, the more Fitz could feel his abilities roiling in his chest, so eager to be brought in from the sidelines. Even distracting himself from his building anger by watching Jemma didn’t help, because he could see the way she tensed further as the meeting progressed. Everyone was uncomfortable except for Ward, who began the briefing just as he would have done all that time ago before destroying everything that they’d built together. He finally noticed that something was off when he glanced to the side and saw Trip standing only a few feet away from him, muscles tensed as if he was ready to pounce at any second.

Lights blinked on the screen behind Ward as he turned to see the stony faces watching him, and Fitz almost wasn’t surprised when the man tried to deflect attention from the reasons why they all hated him. He went on and on, until Jemma snapped, interrupting his excuses.

“After you killed _how_ many people?” Her voice was taught and high, and Fitz fed off of her anxiety, his own rage building in his chest.

“We were a team,” he spat out, drawing the eyes of his former friend, “and a family, and you betrayed us!” His chest heaved as he tried to draw breath into his lungs, thrown back into the hours when he’d first learned that someone he’d come to respect and admire had done so many terrible things. Fitz couldn’t understand it then or now – they’d saved each other, time and again, only for Ward to turn his back on them... and for what? On top of his confusion about his feelings for Jemma at the time, nothing had made sense anymore, even the smell of chlorine at the motel seeming unsettling. 

“I know!” Ward looked almost sincere as he spoke, ruefully meeting Fitz’s gaze. “It’s what I regret the most. Not the lying, not the SHIELD agents I had to put down, and I’m sorry – not even dropping you two into the ocean.”

His powers rippled through Fitz’s veins, almost urging him to raise his hand and pull apart the molecules that made up Grant Ward one by one. He could do it – he knew how now, the sound of Ward’s cells humming quietly under the louder noises of the aluminum and glass that surrounded them. A nasty voice in the back of his head (that sounded all too like the hallucination he’d happily shed only a month or two prior) pointed out how satisfying it would be to literally tear apart the man who had nearly destroyed him.

Instead, though, Fitz’s eyes were drawn to Jemma, and the expression on her face deflated the anger that had risen so quickly. Although he could only see her from the side, there was something oddly settled in the way she watched Ward as he finished his little speech. Fitz couldn’t put a finger on what about her posture had him so suddenly worried, but he didn’t pay much attention to anyone else until Coulson doled out their mission assignments. 

“Two teams,” the Director said, “Skye, Ward, Trip, and Simmons on rescue and medical. Fitz and I will break into missile defense and gather the intel. May’s with us for firepower.” He glanced briefly at Fitz, as if he was about to say something else but changed his mind at the last minute. “Okay, get ready to decamp to the quinjet.” 

The rest of the team peeled out of the room and away from Ward as quickly as possible – with the exception of Trip, who continued to unsubtly shadow his charge. Fitz watched Jemma crouch over her supplies in the common room, nodding brusquely as Skye muttered something in her ear and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. Something other than the mission itself had Fitz feeling deeply discomfited, and the fact that he was going to be on a separate team from Jemma didn’t help.


	14. Is the noise fading?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [Now Comes the Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KiL9PrBA-Hg) by Rob Thomas.  
>          _"you will not be forgotten, and you will not be **alone** "_

Traveling on the Bus was nothing like Fitz remembered. Where once the moments in between had been filled with chatter, now they were filled only with the steady hum of the plane’s engine. He couldn’t even distract himself with Jemma, as she seemed even tenser than he. Although they had both come to a tacit agreement not to display affection in front of Ward – he had no right to take credit for that, which he surely would – Fitz would have felt much better just being able to hold her hand. Instead, he settled for hovering near her and taking heart in the private, reassuring little smiles she sent him whenever the others had turned away.

Seemingly little time passed until May had finished prepping the quinjet, and everyone filed up the ladder into the plane above. As Fitz waited for Jemma to fetch something from the bunks, Trip paused by his side.

“How’re you doin’, man?”

Watching his friend shift his rucksack higher on his shoulder, Fitz opened his mouth to give him a non-answer. Something stopped him, though – an odd sort of affection for the man he’d once been so determined to hate, thanks to his own irrational jealousy. A man who had watched SHIELD fall and stayed with a team of people he barely knew so that he could continue to make the world a better place. Trip had fit so effortlessly into the team that sometimes Fitz forgot that he hadn’t always been there.

“Okay. Nervous, actually,” Fitz admitted, casting his gaze down and shifting from foot to foot. “I understand, um, y’know – _it_ , now, but....” 

“Hey,” Trip interrupted with a wry chuckle, “if you could keep your cool during that briefing, I think you’ll be fine with Hydra.” A dry laugh escaped Fitz’s throat, and he nodded. “Your friend, the guy with the electricity... he trusts you, right?”

Exhaling, Fitz met Trip’s eyes. “I hope so.” 

Trip nodded and nudged his shoulder. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“Sorry!” Jemma trotted up beside Fitz, smiling at Trip as he ascended the ladder. “I’m here, just wanted to fetch something for Skye. Go on up.”

Waiting until Trip was out of sight, Fitz stretched down to give Jemma a quick peck before reaching for the ladder himself. Once they were both up the ladder and in the quinjet, he turned to watch Trip seal off the exit. This was the last time he’d ever see the Bus and he couldn’t help the vague sense of nostalgia that washed over him. That single year of gallivanting around the planet and saving the world might be the best of his life – other than the year he met Jemma, anyway. As happy as he was now to be in a relationship with her, when they’d been on the Bus with their team so much had been blissfully simple. That life had been dangerous and unpredictable, but he’d felt on top of the world, knowing that he was making a difference and that he had a family to watch his back every step of the way.

Ward strode by on his way to his seat, and Fitz’s mouth twisted to the side. The man’s continued existence was a stark reminder of exactly how much had changed.

“Fitz,” came Jemma’s voice surprisingly close to his ear, and he tilted his head down to where she’d sidled up next to him. “Have I ever told you that your bum looks delectable in your tactical gear trousers?” Her hand cupped the swell of said bum and gave a surreptitious squeeze, fingers grasping his flesh and causing a sharp bolt of arousal to shoot through him.

Fitz let out a strangled squawk, jumping away from her touch and looking frantically around to see if anyone had noticed. Although now a couple of the others were looking at him thanks to his overreaction, he was relieved to see that no one had been behind him when Jemma had groped him. Eyes narrowing, he turned to where she was giving him an innocent smile. “What?”

“Now’s _not_ the time,” he hissed, trying very hard to subdue the image of what it would be like to fuck his girlfriend senseless while wearing their tactical gear. That mental image had appeared faster than it perhaps should have, and he ducked his head to hide the flush that surely tinted his cheeks.

“For what, complimenting you?” The tone of her voice had an extra lilt to it, and she gave him a faux-indignant sniff as she stepped toward a pair of empty seats. “I’m simply trying to be an appreciative girlfriend, and this is the thanks I get.”

Staring after her with an expression torn between consternation, amusement, and sudden yet acute sexual frustration, Fitz didn’t notice Ward watching them until he passed by his seat.

“Hey,” Ward said, stopping Fitz in his tracks. A cold vein of detestation slithered through his gut as he turned to the other man, whose expression was far too relaxed. “Look at you two. You finally told her how you felt!”

Anger roiled in his chest, and Fitz had to think quickly to rein in the powers rumbling in his chest, straining to be unleashed. “Yeah,” he spat out, pulse pounding in his ears. “When I thought I was going to die at the bottom of the bloody ocean.”

A low noise of surprise distracted him from his fury, and he glanced over to see Skye staring at him, horrorstruck. “ _Shit_ , Fitz. That’s....” Seeing Ward watching her, she pursed her lips and gave her head a brief shake. “No, right. Later.”

Not waiting to see Ward’s reaction, Fitz strode away, directly to the empty seat by Jemma. Worry creased her brows as she watched him, and reached over to take his hand once he’d finished strapping himself in. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, making sure he was angled away from their former teammate and lifting her hand to press a light kiss to her palm. “I’m alright.” 

The smile she gave him in reply was warm but a little sad, and he felt a brief pang of regret that they weren’t still at either the cabin or in their Afterlife cottage. Life was a lot more complicated when it wasn’t just the two of them, isolated from the rest of the world and with only each other’s company to keep.

 

\------

 

One violent explosion and a hell of a turbulent flight later, the team crept quietly into the Hydra facility, guns raised and on high alert. Despite nearly everyone’s misgivings, Bakshi did find them not long after their arrival, and Coulson gave the signal for everyone to split off. 

When Jemma gave Fitz a somewhat tremulous smile and turned away, though, he reached out to grab her arm. His mouth worked silently as she stared questioningly back at him, and he swallowed, a knot of worry twisting in his gut. “Be careful, Jemma,” he murmured at last, and she nodded, setting her lips into a thin line. 

“You, too,” she whispered, squeezing his arm and then turning to jog after Trip, Skye, Ward, and Bakshi. He saw her flinch when she passed the Hydra stooge, and as he turned to follow Coulson and May, Fitz wondered how well she’d known Bakshi when she was undercover – if he’d threatened her in a way that would cause such a reaction.

The smell of human waste permeated the base, and he had to take deep breaths to keep himself from thinking about the horrific things Hydra had done here to Inhumans just like him. Finding the mainframe room was a relief, and after May and Coulson eliminated the guards Fitz went to work disabling Hydra’s missile defense and locating the relevant intel. Line upon line of red and white code scrolled down the screen as he input the commands, his nerves fading away while he focused something far more familiar than his powers. 

As he typed, his abilities swarmed calmly through his chest, just as tense as he but waiting for his instruction. To his surprise, all he’d felt since leaving for the mission was an unexpected sense of balance. Logically, he was still terrified of losing control again, but instinctively he felt that he understood the powers now, and that he could work with them instead of constantly trying to force them into submission. Unlike Ward’s presence, this surprise was most welcome. 

Finally, his program to dismantle the missiles engaged properly, and he moved on to finding the intel on Hydra’s experimentations. Before transferring the files onto his drive, Fitz quickly pulled up their database list, searching for Mike or Lincoln’s files in the hopes that maybe they would include information about their locations or conditions. Whoever had organized their system was probably someone with whom Jemma would get along, he thought, lips quirking up in a brief smile. They had everything alphabetized and sorted into a variety of easily searchable categories. Of course, he thought wryly, they might get along if this person weren’t knowingly working for a terrorist organization whose general mission statement involved pain and destruction.

Finding Lincoln’s file was simple enough, but Fitz froze at the sight of another name only a few rows down from “C” for Campbell:

 _Fitz, Peter – Terminated 1992_.

Fitz’s mouth went dry as the full meaning of his discovery hit him. Hydra had captured and almost certainly tortured his father until his death – when Fitz had been only five years old. Nausea welled up in his chest but he slammed his hand down on the key to begin the intel transfer before he could think any further. Watching the second progress bar begin to tick along the screen, he pressed his fist against his mouth. The complete absence of his father from Fitz’s childhood hadn’t been because the man had abandoned him, but because he had met a horrendous fate. Had this been what Lincoln was going to tell him yesterday at Afterlife?

Boot steps approached from a hallway to his left, and [Fitz grabbed his gun](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/134224236812/this-is-my-new-favorite-nearly-missed-moment). May shot before he could even aim, and he inhaled shakily, trying to get himself to calm down. The information about his father would be included with the rest of their Hydra intel, and thinking about it now would only upset him. For the moment, keeping his mind on the mission was imperative. Later, he could process it – and grieve. 

Rapid footsteps passed the room, and May leaned into the hallway. With a brief nod at whoever was out there – presumably someone on their team – she strode back inside to where Coulson was working on a different Hydra computer. 

As the sounds drew closer, Fitz could make out Skye and Trip’s voices. 

“Is it him?”

“I dunno, didn’t ask what he looked like,” Skye said, peering into the room and hurrying straight to Fitz. “We found someone, but we dunno if he’s your friend. Come ID him?”

Glancing down at the computer, he pushed back from his chair. “May, can you watch this progress bar?” She nodded and strode over so that she could keep an eye on both his computer and Coulson. “S’long as it keeps going, it’s working. If anything changes, we’re in deep shit.” The last earned him a wry smile, and as he followed Skye into the hall he thought that it was an odd woman who smiled at the thought of everything going to hell.

Trip met them in the hall and the three of them jogged toward what seemed to be a medical wing. The walls were covered in grime and, aside from the equipment scattered around the room, bore no resemblance to a place that cared about the fate of its patients. Fitz caught a glimpse of more than one leather restraint on the gurneys. 

Lying prone in the only occupied bed was Lincoln, tubes up his nose and a worrisome amount of blood shining on the surgical papers that covered his bare chest. 

“That’s him,” Fitz said, striding quickly across the room. “Get Simmons, I dunno how to disconnect him.” Trip spun on his heel and sped out the door, with Skye holstering her pistol and following after Fitz.

“What can I do?”

Fitz shook his head, squinting at the machines and then down at his much paler than normal friend. The smell of blood was potent, and he had to inhale through his mouth to keep from getting nauseous. “I have no –”

A loud beeping startled them both, switching quickly into the familiar sound of a flat-lining heartbeat. Swearing, he stared at the unwavering red line on the monitor, raising his hands behind his head in a gesture of frustration.

“We need something to get his heart going,” Skye muttered from behind him, shoving aside supplies piled on nearby tables, evidently in the hopes of unearthing the right machine.

 _Get his heart going_. Fitz lowered his hands, the sounds of Skye’s hunt fading out as he realized that without Jemma or Trip, he was Lincoln’s only shot at survival. As he hovered his hands over the unconscious Inhuman’s chest, he gave his head a brief shake and hoped that his transitioner really did trust him to control his powers. Inhaling, Fitz sent a localized pulse into Lincoln’s chest and glanced up at the heartbeat monitor. Nothing. He hadn’t really grasped the vibrations of Lincoln’s own electric powers the first time, so with another deep breath Fitz tried sending one last pulse forward. A bright spark arced between his hands and Lincoln’s chest, and the monitor stuttered rapidly back into a working heartbeat.

“Fuck,” Fitz said, shaking out his hands. The shock had been minimal but sharp, and he dropped his head as he leaned on the gurney’s metal bars.

“Jesus H. Christ, you’re a walking defibrillator.” When he looked up, Skye was staring at him with total awe, jaw hanging open in what might in any other situation be an adorable way.

“Not me,” he said gruffly, straightening up. “Needed his powers to do that.”

“Found her!” 

Running footsteps preceded first Jemma and then Trip’s entrance into the hospital wing, and she sped immediately over to the gurney on which Lincoln lay. 

Skye reached out to give Trip a grateful nudge, and then turned to watch Jemma examine the Inhuman. “Where’re Ward and Bakshi?”

Jemma paused in the middle of lifting the surgical papers, glancing briefly at Fitz before returning to Lincoln’s wounds. “They’re not coming with us.” 

“Big fuckin’ surprise,” Skye bit out, turning away from the table. “I’m gonna go check on Mike.”

“Going back to the mainframe,” Fitz said, watching as Jemma gestured for Trip to hand her something. “Are you alright here?”

“Yes,” she answered without looking at him, nose wrinkling as she examined the incisions. “We’ll see you on the quinjet.”

From then on, Fitz didn’t have time to think, too occupied with finishing up the data transfer and double-checking that his program had in fact deactivated the missile systems. Despite the absence of their former team member during the return flight, the atmosphere continued to be tense. The two gravely injured patients were a stark reminder that sometimes winning didn’t look like it. 

Once they’d arrived, Fitz helped the others – led by Jemma – rush Mike and Lincoln into the hospital wing, and then went on to the lab alone. The intel he’d loaded would be extremely helpful to SHIELD, but there was only one file that he cared about.

Luckily, the lab was empty at this time of night (or morning, truly), and so no one could ask why he was crying over his computer terminal. Later, when she was done saving lives, Fitz would fold himself into Jemma’s arms and mourn the father he’d never known. For the moment, though, he needed time to process the information on his own, feeling like he owed it to the man who gave him life to at least learn about his death.

 

\------

 

Although Fitz was happy to see Mike smile when he and Jemma approached his bedside later, Fitz couldn’t help the wince that flitted across his face when he got a good look at his condition. Both legs were effectively gone, and he had a bandage over the socket from which Hydra had removed his mechanical eye.

“That bad, huh?” 

Fitz glanced up to see Mike raise his eyebrows, and he let out a low laugh. “At least you can’t have anyone hack in anymore,” he offered, tapping on his own temple.

“It’s the small victories,” Mike deadpanned, and Fitz gave him a small smile. “How’d you guys find us, anyway?”

“Bakshi,” he replied, crossing his arms. “If you can believe it. Ward got him to lead us right in.”

Mike frowned, shifting around so he was seated more evenly on the bed. “I didn’t see Bakshi – what happened to him?”

“He didn’t make it,” Jemma answered quietly, reaching over to put down the file she’d been holding. “Excuse me, I have to go... see to something.” Giving them both a thin smile, she hurried into the hall. 

Something seemed off about her tone, but just as Fitz was about to go after her a nurse caught his attention from across the room. “Mr. Campbell’s asking for you.” 

When Fitz rounded the divider, Lincoln gave him a weak wave. “Look how the tables have turned,” he joked, waving at his hospital gown.

“Hey, you’ve got a whole dress thing,” Fitz said, pretending to be stern. “That’s loads better than a bloody towel.”

“I’ll put in a policy change request....” He trailed off, coughing, and Fitz quickly grabbed for and then handed over a bottle of water.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll have a scar bigger ‘n...” Lincoln rasped, finishing off the bottle and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. “Or whatever, but at least I’m alive. Thank you for coming to get me.” Fitz waved a dismissive hand at him, but the other Inhuman shook his head. “No, seriously. You risked your life for someone you barely know.”

Unsure how else to answer, Fitz gave him a small shrug. “I’m a SHIELD agent. It’s what we do.”

“So,” Lincoln said, voice hoarse but eyes crinkling in amusement, “we never got to catch up before. How’d it go, with, y’know....” He waggled his eyebrows and Fitz groaned into a laugh. 

“Would’ve been better if we hadn’t needed to worry about setting the whole village up in flames,” he said drily. “Did you buy out an entire candle shop?”

“Are there really shops _just_ for candles?”

“And thanks for putting the condoms in the middle of the bed, for God’s sake –” 

“What? I thought you guys’d talked about it –”

“We _had_ , but I was – there was – I had a _plan_ ,” Fitz stammered, ears reddening, “and it didn’t involve waving a box of condoms in her face!”

“Okay, okay, sorry if I cramped your style,” Lincoln chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. 

“Yeah, well, thanks for the rest. Really.” Fitz gave him as earnest a smile as he could muster, and prayed that Lincoln wouldn’t ask him anything further. The night had gone spectacularly well, but that wasn’t something he felt comfortable sharing with pretty much anyone other than Jemma herself. 

“Anytime, buddy. Oh!” He burst into another coughing fit, and Fitz waited while he chugged another few gulps of water. “I never got to tell you about your dad –”

“Oh, yeah, I –”

“Gordon brought him to Afterlife in the 80’s, and he transitioned pretty smoothly,” Lincoln said, barreling ahead. “He could manipulate metals, but I’m not sure how. Gord-o wasn’t real specific on that front. Wasn’t married at the time, and Gordon said he disappeared – that’s why they never found you. They looked for him, but –”

“Hydra, um, got him,” Fitz whispered, just barely keeping his voice steady. “Read his file earlier, right after we got back.”

“Jesus,” Lincoln breathed, skin paling ever so slightly. “Fitz, man, I’m so sorry.”

A thought occurred to Fitz as his own words echoed in his head, and he turned towards the hallway, brows furrowing. _After we got back...._ He’d abruptly realized that when she’d left Mike’s bedside, Jemma had turned not towards the lab, as would make sense, but in the direction of the residential hall.

Taking his leave from Lincoln, Fitz made his way to her bunk, pausing outside when he heard noises from within.

“ _It’s fine_ ,” he thought he heard, over and over again, muffled by the wood and the speed at which Jemma was speaking. “ _It’s fine, he’s fine_.”

Fitz knocked gently on the door, moving to twist one thumb into the center of his palm as he waited for an answer.

There was a long pause, and then Jemma cleared her throat. “I’ll be back in the hospital wing soon,” she called out, voice unnaturally clipped and high.

“Jemma? It’s me,” Fitz said, leaning against the doorframe and hoping that she would let him in. In all the time he’d known her, Jemma had always instinctively hidden herself away when she was upset. Now that they were together and had been trying so hard not to let words come between them again, he needed her to show him that being back at SHIELD wasn’t forcing a regression.

At last, he heard the lock click and she tugged it partially open, turning on her heel and striding to the other side of the room. Letting himself in, Fitz shut the door and studied Jemma as she paced along the opposite side of her bed. One hand was curled into a stiff fist along her side, and the other was worrying a small square of paper between her thumb and forefinger. 

“I’m fine, Fitz,” she said, but the breathiness to her voice belied the truth. Her eyes were just short of wild and anxiety rolled off of her in waves, in the stiffness of her gait and the twitchiness of her movements. “I just needed a moment, it was – a bit much, that’s all, and I – I....”

“Jemma, you’re not fine,” he started, flinching when a sob stuttered out of her throat. “Christ –”

“I killed him.” Jemma stopped suddenly, leaning on her desk chair and pressing one hand to her chest. “I killed Bakshi, and I can’t... I can’t stop thinking about it,” she whispered, reaching out with a shaky hand and voice breaking as tears began to roll down her cheeks.

In a second, Fitz was by her side, grasping her proffered hand and curling his arm around her shoulders. “Shhh, it’s okay –” 

“It’s not –” 

“Just – c’mere, sit, please,” he murmured, leading her over to perch next to him at the edge of the bed. Her whole body was shaking strongly enough that he almost felt his own teeth chatter, and he tried to find the right words to say. He should’ve known that something was wrong the second he saw her after the mission was over, but he was so distracted with what he’d learned about his father that he hadn’t put her reactions together. “He was a terrible man –”

“I don’t care about him,” she snapped, breaths heaving jaggedly out of her chest. “I didn’t – I was trying to kill _Ward_ , and I didn’t. I’ve waited all this time and he _got away_.” She stopped on another wracking sob, her fingers digging painfully into Fitz’s arm. “The next t-terrible thing he d-does is on me....”

“Jemma,” he breathed in slight admonishment, unable to hide the horror and sadness he felt at her admission.

“I thought about it when I was at Hydra,” she said, the words pouring out as if the dam inside her had just shattered. “About killing him f-for what he did... what he did t-to you.” Her eyes met his then, tears overflowing as she reached up to caress his cheek, hand trembling uncontrollably. “He tried to kill you. He _almost_ killed you, and I d-don’t – I don’t know – I – I –” She broke off again, breaths wheezing out of her throat as she struggled to take in enough air, and Fitz realized suddenly that she was having a panic attack.

“Jemma,” he said, shifting around so he could meet her gaze more squarely. “Please, breathe –”

“I c-can’t –”

“You can,” he interrupted, grabbing hold of her shoulders, “and you will. You’ll tell me about it later. For now, just breathe. In, out – in, out.”

Mimicking the pace he wanted, he sucked in large breaths of air as he spoke, waiting for her to imitate him. It took her a few tries, but eventually her stuttered inhales became full breaths, and he watched as she continued the exercise on her own. He wondered briefly if he should move away, thinking back to when he’d had his own panic attacks after waking from his coma. The idea of anyone seeing his weakness had been anathema to him, and he would have hated to have someone hold him this way. (Even if it had been Jemma who had tried to comfort him, for that matter, because he’d been so terrified at the time that she would think him weak and broken and so very uninteresting.)

Before he could move away, he felt Jemma’s muscles relax under his hands, and after another few moments she collapsed against his chest. Her uneven sobs turned into regular ones, and her fingers clutched desperately at his shirt, at him. The small piece of paper she’d been worrying fell out of her hand onto his lap. As he wrapped one arm more firmly around her shoulders, he picked it up, drawn by the flash of color that he’d seen. It was actually a bigger piece of thick paper folded over, and his breath hitched when he managed to unfold it single-handedly.

Folded in on itself four times was the copy of the Peru selfie that Fitz had printed out for Jemma well over a year ago. The folds were uneven, though, which was unlike her – instead, she’d carefully arranged it so that his face wasn’t creased. In contrast, a large fold split her own face in two, the ink beginning to flake from having been opened and closed so many times. 

“I shouldn’t have taken it with me,” she whispered, and he glanced down to see that she was watching him, tears continuing to flow. “T-to Hydra. If they’d found it, they could have.... But I couldn’t leave all of you b-behind, I couldn’t. I c-couldn’t bear it.” Her face crumpled again, and he made soothing noises as he rubbed her shoulders, trying his best to steady the way she still shook from crying. “I wish I’d killed him.”

“Jemma,” he whispered sadly, shaking his head. “Then you’d just be stooping to his level –”

“I know, and I don’t care,” she bit out, raising her head to meet his eyes. Her cheeks were blotchy and red, tears continuing to slither down her skin, but something nearly frightening burned behind her gaze. “He tried to kill you, Fitz! He nearly did.” She paused as another sob threatened, giving her head a sharp shake. “If he’d – if he’d killed you... I don’t know...” she trailed off, her whole body beginning to tremble again. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.” Covering her face with one hand, she devolved into tears once again.

In the silence that followed, she took in another shaky breath, reaching up to his cheeks with both hands. Her lips trembled but her gaze was clear, wisps of hair framing her face, and she began smoothing her fingers against his skin. Cheekbones, eyebrows, jawline, lips, and then she would begin again, her tears finally beginning to slow as she stared at him. The movements felt so practiced, her fingers never needing to search for their next target, that he wondered if this was what she’d done with the photograph of them in Peru. It felt like she was trying to memorize him, almost as if she was worried he might disappear were she to look away for too long.

“I don’t know what I’d do w-without you,” Jemma whispered at last. 

Fitz felt like his world had just tilted on its axis again, but for once it was in almost a positive way. Not fully, because he’d trade anything to take away Jemma’s panic and upset. But for the first time, he felt like he understood now that she did truly feel the same as he did. Until unfolding that picture, he’d never thought too closely about whether or not her feelings could come close to the strength of his own. The way she stared at him now, though, was so openly adoring that it took his breath away.

“You won’t have to find out,” he answered at last, bringing her hand around to press his lips against its knuckles. “Ward didn’t kill me –”

“No, but he _hurt_ you,” she said, tears beginning to leak through again. “I spent so long thinking about it and planning it, Fitz, I should have done it, I _should_ have....” 

“Jemma, no,” he said quickly, forcing her to meet his gaze again. “No, I don’t want that, okay? Please. I don’t want that.”

After a brief pause, she nodded and dropped forward to press her forehead into his neck. “It was the only thing I could think about some nights. I couldn’t – oh, if I couldn’t help you get better, then I had this. He doesn’t deserve to be here after what he did to you, he doesn’t, he just doesn’t.” Silence fell between them for a few seconds, and he watched her face twist as she fell into crying again. He was truly beginning to feel alarmed now, her panic seemingly abated and yet continued by aftershock upon aftershock of grief.

Another sob stuttered out of her chest and she leaned away from him, pressing the palm of one hand to her forehead and sucking in air. “I can’t stop it. Up here... I’m just, I’ve been stuck, I think, since being rescued. From the ocean. I’m sad all the time, and I keep thinking it’ll get better and then it just.... But when we’re together,” she breathed, a smile breaking through the tears. “Oh, Fitz, when we’re together it’s like nothing else matters.” Her fingers stroked achingly gently against his cheek, along his jaw, the love he saw reflected in her eyes nearly frightening in its intensity. “But it always comes back.” Darkness passed over her features, and she let out a shuddery little exhale. “I thought maybe if I didn’t have to worry about Ward coming after you again, then it would... but I’m still sad,” she said, voice breaking, and his heart ached at the helplessness on her face. “I’m still sad and I don’t know _why_.”

Just as overwhelmed as Jemma and completely unsure what to do, Fitz cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. He didn’t know what to say; all he knew was how much he loved her and wanted her to be happy. And it was like a light flooded his system as he realized that if he were making her sad, he’d leave her in a second: He suddenly understood that this was exactly what she had done for him when he’d been recovering from his brain injury. They’d talked it out on the Bus weeks ago, but it wasn’t until the second that he knew he’d do the same that it truly clicked, that he finally forgave her for leaving him when he’d thought he needed her so terribly. The weight of that forgiveness lifted from somewhere in the back of his mind, and he felt more certain than ever about what he needed to tell her now.

Fortunately, she’d said the only time she felt better was when they were together, so it didn’t look like he’d be going anywhere any time soon.

Breaking away to brush kisses over her nose and cheeks, he finally pressed their foreheads together and let out a slow sigh. “I don’t... I dunno what to say, Jemma, but – thank you. For trusting me enough to tell me.”

She nodded, nuzzling up at him. “I l-love you.” 

“And I love you,” he murmured, smoothing his thumb over her cheekbone. “So - _Christ_ , so much. But I think... that’s not enough.” As she frowned, panic edging into her expression, he gave his head a quick shake and wrapped her small, trembling hands in his much larger ones. “I think you should talk to someone, Jemma. A professional. Like Andrew.”

The dismissive scoff she made almost made him laugh; it was so very _her_. “I don’t need a therapist –”

“You do,” he said, tugging on her hands. “Listen to yourself, Jemma, just – _listen_. To yourself the way you do with me. I want to help but I dunno how. I’m not – I dunno how to make it better. And I’m not leaving, not s’long as you want me with you, but if we’re gonna... move on, together, I’m not enough for you right now.”

“You’ve always been _more_ than enough,” she started, and he let out a small noise of frustration.

“No, I – I don’t mean it like that. You know I don’t.” She dropped her eyes to her lap, and he tightened his grip on her hands. “It’s okay that I’m not enough. Please think about going, Jemma. Not just because I’m asking. For you.” Getting the sense that she was avoiding answering, he leaned down to press his forehead against hers again. “Please.”

Instead of answering, she tilted her head up to brush their lips together. The kiss was gentle and brief, and she broke away with a shuddering breath. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” she said, giving him a shy half-smile. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, reaching forward to wrap her tightly in his arms. This time, the silence was welcome and comfortable, with Jemma’s breathing continuing to even out as Fitz smoothed one hand along the length of her back. “You’re _amazing_.” When she let out a disbelieving snort against his neck, he shifted around so that she was forced to meet his gaze. “I know you don’t feel like it right now, but you are. I’m a certified genius, I know amazing when I see it.”

After a few moments of studying his expression, Jemma let out a hiccup-laugh. “You’re just saying that because you love me.”

“Doesn’t make it less true,” he said, dropping a kiss on her nose, relieved that she was feeling well enough to make jokes. “Alright, I’ll be right back –”

As he stood up, she interrupted him with a panicked “ _no_ ,” grabbing onto the spandex sleeve of his shirt. 

His lips thinned as he felt the way her fingers scrabbled for purchase over the smooth material, a clear reminder that even if she had calmed, she was still not okay. Cupping his hand over hers to stay her panic, he made careful eye contact as he explained. “I just need to get pajamas and a toothbrush, and update SHIELD about Bakshi’s status. Won’t be more’n fifteen minutes, okay?”

With a sharp inhale, she nodded, dropping her eyes to the bed and releasing his arm. “Yes, of course. I – I don’t know why I... it was stupid.”

“Jemma, it’s not stupid. Look at me,” he said gently, giving her an encouraging half-smile when she did. “It’s not. Back in a mo.” Allowing himself the luxury of giving her one more kiss, Fitz sped out of the room with the intention of sprinting so that he could return as fast as possible.

In just under ten minutes, in fact, he turned the handle of her door, pleased to see that during his absence she’d changed into her pajamas. Too impatient to get back to her, he’d only grabbed his from his bunk, and he set about changing into them as soon as he locked the door.

“See, told you I’d be back soon.”

Although she gave him a wide smile, her expression wilted. “What did they say? When you told them?”

Stripping off the skin-tight athletic shirt, he shrugged. “You know May. Told her you’d debrief her tomorrow, that I didn’t know details.”

“May,” she said to herself, nodding slightly. “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” he said, stretching down to pull off the bulky black trousers. “Thought it’d be better with her than Coulson, or anyone else.”

A sigh escaped her lips, and he met her dreamy expression with a puzzled frown. “I really am quite fond of your bum.”

Letting out an incredulous laugh, he shook his head and reached for his pajamas. “Don’t you go starting something you don’t wanna finish.” 

Jemma made a small sniff and squeezed her legs tighter against her chest. “It’s past six in the morning. Now is hardly the time.” 

“And you just spent half an hour crying,” he pointed out gently. “Might be best to wait, no matter the time.”

As he crawled under the blankets on the other side of her bed, she wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh, no, you’re not going to hold out on me until I’ve gone to therapy, are you?”

Fitz laughed again, reaching over to switch off her bedside lamp and pull her in against his chest. “I’m flattered you think I have that much self-control.” 

“Right,” she teased, “what was I thinking? You _are_ the one who said you wanted processing time, and then talked your way into my knickers less than a day later.”

A light flush spread up his cheeks, and he nuzzled against her hair to forestall his embarrassment. “I process quickly.”

Jemma hummed in amusement, shifting up to capture his lips with hers. Her fingers stroked the side of his face, and he could feel the stretch of her lungs against his torso. The fact that she’d been sad for so long and hadn’t told him made something inside him physically ache; sadness was the last thing she deserved. Even worse, it explained a lot about her occasionally strange reactions during their time away from the base, in the way that she would sometimes get emotional and compensate by kissing him. Guilt roiled in his chest for not having noticed or talked to her about it sooner, although with everything that had been happening with his powers he wasn’t sure when he would have found the time or self-awareness anyway.

“I, um,” he said eventually, clearing his throat, “I found out what happened to my dad.”

“Oh, Fitz! Where is he?” She’d leaned up on one elbow to meet his eyes, but he continued to stare up at the shadowed ceiling, smoothing one hand up and down her arm. 

“He was at the Hydra base –”

“No –”

“Died there when I was five,” he managed to get out before his voice broke, and in seconds she had him wrapped in her arms.

“Oh, _no_ , no, those monsters....”

“Afterlife lost track of him a while after he transitioned. I mean, I guess I know why now.” He sniffled, pressing his face against the warmth of her neck. “Could manipulate metal, apparently.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, carding her fingers through his hair. “I’m so sorry, Fitz, that’s horrific.” 

“His file said he had no next of kin – wife or kids, anything.” After a pause, he pulled back to try to find her eyes in the darkness of the room. “It sounds – I mean, I dunno, but it sounds like he, um, was protecting us. Me and my mum.”

A sad smile spread across Jemma’s face, and she caressed his cheek. “That sounds familiar. Protecting people at all costs.”

Fitz hadn’t thought about it that way before, but after a few seconds he gave her a hesitant nod. “Yeah. Guess we’re a little alike after all.”

“And, you know, you’ve been manipulating metals for years,” she said lightly, causing a smile to flash across his face.

“I dunno what to tell my mum,” he sighed, turning back to the ceiling. She’d spent so long believing that the man she’d married had abandoned her and her son, and he simply didn’t know if it was worth reopening that wound. 

“I’m... maybe not the best person to ask about this sort of thing,” Jemma said, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. “But I think the truth would be a good place to start.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered, exhaling slowly. “Yeah, you’re right.” He paused, blinking so that his eyes would adjust to the darkness faster, her silhouette coming into greater detail. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” she said, leaning down to brush her nose against his and give him a brief, affectionate kiss. “I’ll always be with you, Fitz, as long as you want me.”

“So forever then.” He grinned, trying to let her know that he was teasing, but either the tremulousness to his voice or something else belied the truth of his statement. Instead, she lay down again and rested her head on his pillow, close enough that their noses could touch while they slept.

“That sounds about right.” Jemma twisted their fingers together on the mattress between them, and he scooted forward to insinuate one leg between hers.

As he pulled the covers up and tucked them both in, Fitz thought about how vastly different his life was now than it had been only a few weeks ago. The very fabric of his DNA had been irreparably altered in one, catastrophic event, and yet some things hadn’t changed at all. Jemma Simmons was still the most important person in his life, although now they were together at last and he still couldn’t quite believe his luck. 

Somehow, having his whole world come crashing down had reformed it in a way that was so much better than before, and, as he drifted off to sleep with Jemma curled into his arms, Fitz was deeply grateful that he’d become exactly what he was meant to be.


	15. Don't Look Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [Demons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slR0uFyZ8Ws) by Sleigh Bells.  
>         " _you'll be taken down brick by brick by brick_ "

_A few weeks later_

“No, I don’t,” Jemma retorted, keeping her head bent over her measuring equipment. “You keep rambling on and on, and I still don’t know what you mean.”

“Dinner,” Fitz managed to get out, wincing as he realized that hadn’t actually been a full sentence. The looming presence of the Kree monolith was throwing him off, he was sure of it.

“Fast approaching, yes,” Jemma said, still not looking at him, “and we’ll eat it, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, no – no, no....” He inhaled, trying to force himself to find the right words.

The stupidity of his nervousness was not lost on him: Here he was, completely incapable of asking his own girlfriend out on a date when they’d been sharing a bed (in a variety of ways) for the better part of two months. They were doing things all in the wrong order, but what with incorporating “real” SHIELD, the aftermath of Jiaying’s almost-war, and both of them having just begun their respective therapy sessions, they’d simply been too busy to think about doing anything remotely normal in weeks. 

“But, uh, me and you,” he tried again, shuffling a little closer to where she was working, “maybe we could eat somewhere else. Y’know, somewhere... nice.”

As he spoke, she met his eyes over her equipment, understanding lighting her expression by the time he finished. “Oh,” she exclaimed, a smile spreading across her face as she nodded.

Fitz grinned back at her, reaching out to lean on the monolith’s large, bulletproof case. Naturally, rather than support his weight the damned joint flipped to the side, causing him to stumble. When he looked up, a flush warming the back of his neck, Jemma was very clearly trying not to laugh. After a moment of indecision, he squared his shoulders and strode over to sweep her into his arms. As he captured her lips with his, she let out a distinct giggle into the kiss and he redoubled his efforts, pressing her body flush against his. Her laughter turned into a pleased sigh, and he preened internally: No stupid box was going to get in the way of him going on his first real date with Jemma.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway and he pulled back, brushing their lips together one more time before straightening. “Good,” he breathed, feeling inordinately pleased at the somewhat dazed smile she now wore. “Okay. Uh, well – just, come find me when you’re finished here, and, um, I’ll start working on options to run by you... for that.”

Jemma hummed in assent as he walked backward toward the door, her eyes tracking up and down his body. The way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth made him quite sure that she had something else planned for them after the date, and he was absolutely ecstatic to find out what. Forcing himself to leave was probably more difficult than it should’ve been, but if he didn’t neither of them would get any work done for the rest of the day. So finally, Fitz turned around and strode out the door, carefully closing it behind him so that no one else would bother Jemma as she worked. 

The cosmos seemed to have it in for him today, though, because when he turned towards the lab he crashed straight into Skye. They stumbled but managed to stay upright, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders to steady herself.

“Whoa there, Turbo.”

Straightening his cardigan, Fitz raised an eyebrow at her. “Been spending a lot of time with Mack, huh?” She gave him a thin smile in response, and he realized that her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheks a somewhat blotchy tan. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Fiddling with the ID cards at her hip, she shook her head and continued down the hall, waiting for him to follow. “Nothing. I mean – went to visit my dad today. At his new vet’s practice.” With a sympathetic hum, Fitz fell into step alongside her. “It was pretty weird. But, y’know, not _wrong_.” They slowed by the lab, and Skye let out a small noise of excitement. “Oh! Almost forgot – look what I got this morning.” The cord attached to her cards made a quiet zing as she pulled it up to show him the yellow-lined SHIELD one.

“Agent Skye ‘Daisy’ Johnson,” he read, a grin spreading across his face. “That’s got a nice ring to it.” 

“Yeah, right?” She let the cord snap loudly against her hip and shook her bangs out of her eyes. “I mean, it’ll be Agent Johnson most of the time anyway, but yeah. Best of both worlds, you know? My name, and then my history.”

“Sounds perfect, Skye,” he said warmly, squeezing her shoulder. His friend had been deeply subdued since the day she’d helped her father kill her murderous mother on the aircraft carrier, so to see her genuinely excited about anything was a nice change.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” When he nodded, she glanced down and took a small breath. “Before my dad... he asked me to promise that I’d go through the mist one day. Become what I’m meant to be, and all that crap.” Meeting Fitz’s eyes, she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. “I said I would. And it’ll be better that way, y’know, if I’m gonna lead SHIELD’s super-secret powered division I should probably know what I can do, right? But I, um... it’s...” she trailed off, closing her eyes tightly. “Would you come with me?”

“Of course,” Fitz answered without pause, and she opened her eyes, shoulders sinking in relief. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, scoffing a little at the idea that he’d refuse. “I can even be in the same room, if you want. The mist won’t hurt me.”

Skye flung her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she mumbled into his shoulder, and he smiled, rubbing one hand soothingly between her shoulder blades. Even with his brief absence from the base their friendship had only grown stronger, and he had the fleeting thought that it was kind of nice to have someone like a sister around.

“D’you know when you’re gonna do it?” 

Sinking back onto her own feet, she shook her head. “Not sure. Probably once Mack and I have a better recruitment plan drawn up, so he can take over if I’m laid up for a while.” Neither of them voiced the very real potential for “ _if I’m laid up forever_ ” to be the case, knowing the unpredictable nature of the mist’s results as they now did.

A commotion at the other end of the hall drew both their gazes, and the base’s alarm system went off just as Trip shot out of the video surveillance room. “Lock the base down,” he yelled to Skye, sprinting past them. “The monolith – fuck, I don’t know what it just did.”

As Fitz turned to follow after him, wanting to make sure that Jemma was okay, Sam Koenig stepped out of the room that Trip had just left. “Over here, guys. You’re gonna want to see this.”

Giving each other an uneasy glance, Fitz and Skye sped down the hall and followed Koenig into the room. He pressed a few keys on the central monitor, quickly bringing up footage of Fitz leaving the monolith’s containment room only a couple minutes before. In the soundless video, Jemma continued working until something about the glass case drew her attention and she reached towards the latch. Fitz flinched as the case’s door burst open under the force of the monolith melting and crashing over Jemma like a wave, the dark mass sucking her inside and then reforming as if nothing had happened.

The image of her silent screams would be burned into his brain for the rest of his life.

Without thinking, Fitz turned and strode into the hall, throwing off Skye’s hand and ignoring whatever she was saying to him. He had to get to Jemma.

Underneath his feet, the concrete floor began to tremble.

Scores of agents ran in the opposite direction, emergency lights blinking orange against the aged brick. He felt almost detached from his body, as if he had been yanked away from himself by whatever had just swallowed the woman he loved. By the time Fitz reached the door to the room that he’d only just left, the only person there was Trip – and Skye, who had followed from the surveillance room. Standing in front of the closed door, Trip had a radio in one hand and his pistol – the real one, not an ICER – in the other. His boots slipped against the shaking floor.

“Let me in,” Fitz said, expression flat. Most of his awareness was focused on reigning in his powers, leaking out though they may be, ready and waiting for his call if needed. For what, he wasn’t yet sure.

“Can’t do that, Fitz,” Trip replied, tucking the walkie into his pocket. “The whole area’s in quarantine –”

“I don’t need a gun to make you get out of the way.” The words hung between the three of them, and Fitz stared at the taller agent, his friend, without blinking. As if to underscore his words, the walls around them shivered. 

“You don’t mean that,” Skye said, voice uneven.

The panic that had consumed Fitz at seeing Jemma’s disappearance was crystallizing, allowing him to focus better on the task at hand rather than lashing out. Below them, the base slowly settled, dust no longer sifting from between nearby brinks. He inhaled. “I – okay, no, but I’m going in there, and I’d rather you just let me.”

May’s voice crackled out of the walkie. “Status, Agent Triplett.”

Shaking his head, Trip stepped to the side of the door and clicked the talk button. “The area’s clear. Fitz is going in to take a look.” 

“Negative, Agent –” Coulson clicked in over the staticky connection, but Fitz didn’t stay to hear the rest.

His pulse sped up as he pushed through the door that he’d only just exited, a naïve voice in his head hoping that maybe there had been some mistake, that maybe Jemma would still be in there fiddling with her equipment. Instead, he was greeted with complete silence, the only movement in the room a few blinking lights on one of the monitors they had set up to gather data. Motionless, Fitz stared at the monolith, fear thrumming through his veins. If whatever it had done to her was permanent or terminal, he didn’t know what he’d do. Until then, he would work to figure out what had happened.

Skye slid in through the door behind him, quietly latching it and stepping up alongside him. “What d’you need me to do?”

He counted to ten, a calming technique he’d learned during his recovery, and took a small amount of comfort from his friend’s presence beside him. Although more cautious than he, Skye had run to save Jemma, too. 

Balling up his cardigan and tossing it into a corner, he rattled off a list of supplies he’d need from the lab. If there were any lab techs still left in the building, they’d have to help her find everything – now that he was with the monolith, Fitz would not leave its side until Jemma had been returned safe and sound. Or until he knew otherwise. 

With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Fitz got to work, and for the next six hours he lived and breathed data about the monolith. Terrified though he may be, science had never failed him, and he wouldn’t let it fail her now. Skye helped him run simulations so that he could tweak and adjust the equipment, and Trip stood watch by the door, abandoning the hallway to observe their work. Throughout, the monolith did nothing, a silent reminder that the longer they tarried, the less and less likely Jemma’s survival became.

When another one of his theories was disproven – she was not trapped inside the stone itself – Fitz let out a wordless shout and shoved all of the papers off of the metal table they’d requisitioned from a nearby room. Despair flooded his chest. The floor gave a quick tremor as pens, papers, and miscellaneous equipment parts clattered onto the concrete, and he leaned forward onto the table, pressing his palms hard against his eyes. It had been weeks, _weeks_ , since he’d accidentally shaken anything around him, and now was the worst time for him to lose control. Reminding himself over and over again that he needed to be strong for Jemma, needed to keep his powers in check for her sake, if not for his own, helped rein his panic back in.

A few deep breaths later, he raised his eyes to stare at the monolith. The problem was that he was running out of ideas. _If Jemma was here, she’d know what to do_ , he thought to himself, fighting back against that all-consuming fear once again. 

“Is there someone we could call from the ship?” Skye’s voice was almost timid in its quietness, and Fitz was abruptly reminded that there were two other people in the room with him. “You know, someone who might have....”

When he didn’t reply, she trailed off, and he didn’t turn in their direction. What would Jemma tell him if she were here? The temptation to call her up from memory as he had for so many months when she’d been gone was nearly irresistible. It would be so easy to revert to that crutch – but he wasn’t there yet. He wouldn’t let himself get to that point. Instead, he forced himself to just think about her advice rather than live it.

 _Make sure you’ve taken full inventory of your resources_ , she would say, her voice as clear in his head as if she had said the words herself only seconds ago. But he’d used all of the equipment they had at the Playground; the next step was for him to invent something new, but he didn’t have _time_. Jemma could be.... Too many hours had passed, and creating new ways to measure the monolith would just take up more. Without Jemma and without the right equipment, Fitz didn’t have anything left. 

A pen rolled off the edge of the table and clattered to the floor.

The answer came to Fitz in a rush, knocking the air straight out of him. Of course he hadn’t used all of his resources – he was _more_ than what he used to be.

“Get out,” he said, drawing Trip and Skye’s attention.

“What?” Skye acted like she simply hadn’t heard him, and in his periphery he caught the nervous glance she gave Trip. Something about that look irked him, and gave him the strength to be as much of an ass as he could.

“Get out of the _BLOODY ROOM_!”

Skye flinched, and if he weren’t so sure that he was doing the right thing he would have felt badly about it. 

Cool and collected as ever, Trip tapped her elbow. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s give him some space.” Unwilling to move, she stared back at Fitz for a long time, dark brown eyes shimmering in the dim lights. In an abrupt sweep, she strode past Trip and through the door, and, as the other man followed silently behind her, Fitz could hear her boots stomping all the way down the hall. 

Fitz exhaled, hoping that he’d have the chance to apologize to her later. Without having more information about the monolith now than he did six hours ago, he knew that he needed them as far away from this room as possible before attempting what he was about to do. Reckless, desperate, and terrified though he may be, he didn’t want to risk anyone else’s life other than his own. As he’d long ago established, his own existence was negotiable when Jemma’s life was on the line.

The monolith loomed tall over him as he turned around, eyeing the case and deciding that he didn’t need to unlock the thing. His powers were in control enough that he could sense the stone even through the bulletproof glass, and it would be better to wait until he had a handle on the thing to avoid any interruption. 

Settling his feet on the concrete floor, Fitz raised his hands like he’d gotten used to doing at Afterlife and let out a long, steadying breath. “ _Focus on a single point_ ,” May had suggested not long after he’d returned. “ _Let everything else become noise in the background_.” So he closed his eyes and did as she’d instructed, sifting through the frequencies of objects that were not relevant and searching for the only one that was.

Past the glass and steel, he felt a dark, thrumming kind of vibration unlike anything he’d ever sensed on earth. Something more vast than the ocean and deeper, far deeper than the ninety feet to which he and Jemma had once sunk. Shuffling closer to the case, he waited until he had as good of a handle on the frequency as he was going to get before swinging the door open. Then Fitz let his powers surge forward, circling the stone as he pressed its molecules apart, figuring out what made them vibrate and how to coax them into movement. 

The obsidian exterior rippled.

A sharp ache began to grow in his head the longer he held the stone’s frequency, but he ignored it, knowing that he was getting closer to figuring out exactly what made this thing tick. Then something shifted in the way the monolith moved, as if a key had been slotted into place, and he grasped onto those threads for dear life. His vision began to blur.

After a moment of fumbling with the vibrations, he forced the stone apart from its own center to reveal a shimmering darkness that he knew, he could _feel_ , was not from this world. Slivers of some phantom pain darted through his skull and he cried out, gasping, desperate to hold on. Something warm trickled down his skin, but still he held the stone apart. Whatever he’d just revealed, Jemma had to be in there.

“JEMMA!” he shouted, edging forward, hands held out to the monolith’s fluctuating surface. “ _JEMMA!_ ”

“Fitz?!” Her voice was faint, and he shook his head as sweat trickled into his eyes, blinding him completely.

It felt like someone had taken a pickaxe to his skull and was trying to cleave it open, but he held one hand forward, only dimly aware of the strange sensation of cold against his skin as he pushed it through the monolith’s surface. The rest of his focus clung to the vibrations of the stone, or wormhole, whatever he’d just revealed, desperate to keep it open for just a little longer. Just long enough for Jemma to find him. An odd sort of red bloomed in the corners of his closed eyes, and Fitz could feel himself wavering, someone else’s fingertips skimming his just as the throbbing in his head reached an unholy zenith. Staggering from the agony, he fell backwards against the concrete, red flashing across his eyelids before cutting into black. 

When he opened his eyes, he was looking up at the deeply worried faces of Skye and Trip. Fitz realized that his head was lying in Skye’s lap, and that Trip was wiping blood away from where it had trickled out of his nose.

“What the _fuck_ , Fitz,” Skye whispered, her words definitely more of a statement than a question.

“It’s a wormhole,” he answered, wincing as he scrambled to his feet. He swayed as soon as he was standing, but luckily Trip had good enough reflexes to steady him before he fell. “The monolith, it’s a wormhole and I can open it. With my powers, I mean.” 

“Shit,” Skye muttered, shaking her head as she clambered to her feet. 

“You’re sure –”

“Yes,” Fitz said, shaking out his hands and trying to assess the damage. Bizarrely, there didn’t seem to be any fractures up his arms – there was no pain there at all, although he did feel like he’d just experienced the world’s worst migraine. A small sheen of red still edged his vision. “Once I was able to find the right frequency, which wasn’t a bloody cakewalk, mind, I was able to open the – the portal, or whatever it is. I heard her.” He looked from Skye to Trip and back again. “She’s out there, and I can get her back.”

“You can’t, that thing nearly killed you,” Skye exclaimed, pointing almost accusatorily at it.

“Oh, c’mon, I just passed out for a sec –”

“You were out for almost half an hour, man.” Trip’s face was serious, studying the shock on Fitz’s face. “And with your nose bleeding like that – I mean, I’d need to do a full exam, but opening that portal did a number on your head. I dunno if you’d survive doing it again.”

Fitz paused before answering, but only for a second. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, giving them a dismissive wave and turning to unlatch the case that they’d clearly closed while he was unconscious. “As long as I get Jemma back first.” 

Skye let out something between a manic laugh and a sob, and she turned quickly towards the door. “I can’t watch this,” she breathed, one shaking hand covering her face. 

Setting his feet on the floor again, one in front of the other, he turned to where Trip continued to watch him, eerily still. “Shouldn’t do anything to you while I’m controlling it, but you guys might wanna get outta here. Don’t know exactly what’ll happen.” A few seconds passed without anyone moving, and Fitz turned back to Trip, since he couldn’t see Skye from this angle. 

The other man’s jaw flexed before he spoke, crossed arms shifting slightly over his chest. “You’re sure it’s a portal?”

“Yeah.”

With a slight nod, Trip shucked off his jacket and peered around one of the nearby supply pallets. 

Fitz lowered his hands, frowning as his friend wheeled over an industrial spindle with a thick, metal cable wrapped around it. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m gonna go through to get Simmons while you hold the portal open,” Trip replied, tone matter-of-fact. “Might be less strain on your head if you’re not doing both.”

Shaking his head, Fitz watched as the other man set about removing the wheels and securing the contraption to hooks he flipped up from the floor. “It’s not safe –”

“‘Bout as safe as it is for you,” Trip shot back, freezing in place when Fitz took a large, jerky step towards him. 

“No,” Fitz said emphatically, swiping one hand through the air, “I won’t... risk...” Something warm trickled onto his lips, and he reached up. When he pulled his fingers away from his mouth, they were smeared with blood. Blinking, he rubbed fiercely at his skin with his sleeve, thinking fervently that he needed his body to hold on for just a little longer. That’s all he needed to get her back.

“Fitz.” When he looked up, Trip stood only a foot away, and he reached out to grab Fitz’s shoulder. Trip paused before he spoke again, earnestly – quiet in a way he almost never was. “You saved my life once, man. Now let me save yours.”

Silence stretched on as Fitz tried to think of an argument for something like that, but as another trickle of warmth inched down above his lip he realized that he didn’t have one. He couldn’t save Jemma by himself, and he didn’t have to. Nodding, Fitz swiped his sleeve across his face again and pinched his nose, hoping to stem the blood.

“Good man,” Trip said, all wide smiles and purposeful steps as he patted Fitz on the back and made his way over to Skye. Their voices lowered as if for privacy, and so he intentionally didn’t try to make out what they said, instead concentrating on evening out his breathing. With a small shake of her head, Skye strode to the door, and Fitz noticed the way Trip’s hand lingered on the small of her back until she was out of his reach.

To his surprise, as he and Trip worked on securing the line, Skye returned holding additional safety equipment, eyes red-rimmed but dry. When she caught Fitz’s gape of surprise, she shot him a derisive little tut. 

“You seriously think I’d let you do this alone?”

Although Fitz had never felt as unsure and terrified as he did now, with Jemma trapped who knew how far away and with his body fighting his every step, watching Skye and Trip get to work sent a vein of calm through the panic. It wasn’t just him and Jemma against the world anymore – they had a family who would do literally anything to help.

Once all the safety equipment was set up, Fitz stood directly in front of the monolith, inhaling slowly and trying to get himself centered. His powers were ready, he knew, but what would happen while he held the monolith’s frequency for even longer was still an unknown variable. At least the bleeding had stopped. 

“Hey,” Skye murmured, appearing at his shoulder and startling him. “I just – look, if it goes south, and your head –” 

“I can do this.” His voice was sharper than he’d intended, but her gaze was steady nonetheless, and she grabbed his arm. 

“If it goes south, you let go, okay? We’ll find another way through.” Fitz shrugged off her grip, focusing again on the monolith, and she sighed. “Think about what Jemma’d want,” she whispered, and he heard her footsteps retreat to her position by the wheel.

“Ready?” Fitz called out, once again settling one foot behind the other and raising his hands.

“Ready,” Trip replied. The sound of him tugging and double-checking the safety gear just barely made it through to Fitz through his focus, and he pushed it aside.

The vastness of the monolith’s frequency swarmed into his awareness the second he pushed forward with his Inhuman abilities, the other world throbbing within the center of its rock casing. Now that he knew what he was looking for, it would take him far less time to find the right vibration. Pain flared behind his eyes and he had to squeeze them shut, a deafening roar overtaking his senses. With a low breath he shook his head and fixed his gaze again on the towering, ink-black stone. One molecule at a time, he pieced out the frequency that would lead to the place he’d found before, the one that had tasted of dust and sounded like vicious winds and Jemma. It fell under his control with a snap, the monolith’s surface rippling to reveal something far darker and deeper underneath. 

“ _GO_!” Fitz didn’t know how loud he yelled, the needling ache spreading from behind his eyes down the back of his neck. He could just barely make out a figure he assumed to be Trip moving rapidly towards the stone and then disappearing within it.

All of his focus narrowed to holding the right vibration as it was, keeping his grip on the molecules. His skull felt too small for his head, his brain pulsing nauseatingly in time with the monolith, and he wanted so desperately to let himself pass out, just to make the agony stop. But they weren’t back yet, they weren’t back, and in the distance he could hear gears grinding and Skye screaming, but they weren’t _back_. The frequency throbbed briefly out of his control and he scrambled forward with his powers, catching the ends of the stone’s molecules before they could fly unerringly back together. Red bloomed in his vision, and he realized that the screams were coming not from Skye, but from his own throat, from where he was yelling himself hoarse just to keep the portal held open a little longer.

The pain soared, overtaking all of his limbs and his mind and his breath, and with one last pulse the monolith exploded into shards in front of him. Landing hard on his hands and knees, Fitz blinked the blurriness away from his eyes, the agony not having lessened once he’d let go of his powers, and stared with dread at the pile of black nothingness that lay scattered before him. He crawled forward, wading into the rubble, and he thought he called out but he could barely hear over the ringing in his ears.

Part of the pile shifted, revealing Trip, soot-covered but uninjured. Then he reached down and unearthed a coughing Jemma from the shards, her face dirt streaked, hair wild, and absolutely the most beautiful thing Fitz had ever seen. He cried out her name and his arms gave way beneath him as he let the pain in his head consume him, dimming his awareness of everything else. 

“ _Fitz?!_ ” Her voice – of course he could hear her voice. Jemma sounded panicked, and the dirt beneath him slid as two familiar hands grabbed him and pulled him onto her lap.

Forcing his eyes open, it took him a few seconds to get his sight in focus enough to register her face. A smile ghosted over his cracked lips as he did, the pain spreading further down his spine. “Jemma,” he whispered, vision fading even though he couldn’t quite remember how to move his eyelids. Not that he wanted to look away; her face alone was enough to dull the agony in his head.

“No, no,” she cried, and he could vaguely tell that she’d curled herself over him, clutching him to her chest. One hand turned his face towards her when his head slipped to the side. “Oh my God, Fitz, what did you _do_? Please, no, please stay with me... _please_....”

Drifting off, Fitz was deeply thankful that he’d been able to hold on as long as he did.

Jemma was safe. Now he could let go.

 

\------

 

Darkness. Silence.

 _People barked orders around him, the palette onto which he was strapped hard and inflexible. Something warm and wet dripped onto his face, something salty._  

Drifting. Cold seeping through cloth, skin, bone.

 _His bed was different. Softer, but scratchy. Nearby, Jemma and Lincoln argued, not knowing which treatment to use without access to Afterlife. A tremor shivered through the room and she gasped, squeezing Fitz’s hand so hard it might bruise._  

Hands encircling his. Warmth. So much warmth.

_Monitors beeped relentlessly, and objects continued to shake in place. Fingers prodded his skin and he wanted to move away but couldn’t. His body didn’t belong to him anymore._

The between. Lips warm against skin, forehead to temple. 

_“I love you,” Jemma whispered, clinging to his limp hand as if it was her lifeline. “Please don’t leave me, Fitz. Please.”_

_And then Leopold Fitz remembered what he had to live for, and opened his eyes._

 

\------

 

Hours later, following test after test after test and being poked by dozens of needles and speaking to so many SHIELD doctors and nurses that Fitz lost count, he and Jemma were finally left alone. Since she was technically under observation herself, she wasn’t in charge of his medical care (not that that had stopped her from acting like it, ordering the others around as if she’d never been gone at all). As far as he could tell, since he’d been fading in and out of consciousness, she’d refused to leave his side.

Although the pain was gone – presumably thanks to medication – his whole body felt stiff and resisted any movement. Even simply turning to see her better made him wince. Breathing deeply, Fitz let his eyes roam over her, reassuring himself that she was truly back, that she was no longer in danger. Her clothes were the same; dusty and slightly torn, but the same ones she’d been wearing that morning, before the monolith had intervened. The main difference now was that her skin had been scrubbed clean, and he could see the edge of a plaster under her sleeve – presumably one of their monitoring devices, recording her vitals at this very second.

“Hi,” Fitz rasped out, giving her a feeble smile and twitching the fingers around which she had an iron grip.

Jemma stared at him, mouth parting. “ _Hi_ ,” she repeated, and then turned away with a low bark of laughter. “I – I’m sorry, Fitz, I’m... I’m almost too angry to speak right now.” 

His brows furrowed in confusion, especially because despite her words she didn’t make any indication of wanting to leave. “Why?”

“ _Why?!_ ” Her eyes welled as she watched him, tears shaking loose as she scooted forward to hug his arm fiercely to her chest. “God, you just – do you honestly have no idea?”

Trying to swallow, he burst into a coughing fit, a duller remnant of the pain digging in behind his eyes. In milliseconds, Jemma had a cup of water held to his chapped lips, one hand soothingly rubbing his back as he drank and then dragged in huge gulps of air. Even once his breathing had returned to normal, she stayed close, her other hand reaching out to comb through his assuredly messy hair and then smooth along his jaw.

“I could have waited,” she whispered, eyes flitting across his face. “Another few hours, or even a day on that planet would have been fine. For you to find a safe way through. To make a machine that would help you hold the frequency, or....” She let out a frustrated huff of air. “Skye told me what you said. That it didn’t _matter_ –”

“I didn’t _know_ you were okay,” he tried to argue, voice scratchy and thin. “I didn’t know what’d –” 

“But you heard me! Before you came back, you heard me, and – I mean, I don’t know what it looked like from your end, but I could see you trying to push through.” 

“Couldn’t see you.” He sounded a little petulant even to his ears, but he sort of resented the fact that she was arguing with him about this. The plan, weak though it may have been, had worked – wasn’t that all that mattered?

“But you knew I was alive,” she pointed out, just as stubborn about conceding the point as he. Her eyes flashed as she argued, and he couldn’t stop the flare of fondness he felt for her in that moment. “I would have been _fine_ waiting –”

“Maybe _I_ wouldn’t’ve been,” Fitz interrupted, dropping his gaze to the hospital-standard sheets between them. “I mean,” he started, making what he already knew was a poor attempt at a joke, “last time you were gone, I started hallucinating you, so....”

Jemma stilled, breath hitching as she studied him. “Is that true?”

Realizing that he had, perhaps, not yet shared that with her, he kept his eyes averted, nodding and then shrugging. “I still... needed help, so... I mean, I knew you weren’t real – _she_ wasn’t real most of the time, but....”

An odd, small noise escaped her throat, and tears spilled over again as she squeezed her eyes shut tight. “Oh, _Fitz_ ,” she whispered, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. Unsure what else to say, he let the silence fill the theoretically-private, glass-walled hospital wing room, hesitantly moving one hand up to her shoulder. 

“Did it ever even occur to you,” she said, brushing the tips of their noses together, “what it might do to _me_? To come back and have you....” A strong shudder rolled through her, knocking their heads together a little and causing Fitz to pull away.

When she met his eyes again, hers were so intense he had to fight not to look away. This was part of their new relationship, where Jemma was no longer the first person to break eye contact. Although some of it was a habit left from when he’d needed to mask his feelings, sometimes it simply made him feel almost shy to see her watch him the way she did, as if she couldn’t look at him enough.

“I cannot thank you enough for saving me.” She let out a low laugh, gaze drifting up before returning to his. “Over and over again. But I – if you had... I already lost you once,” she breathed, hands tightening around his. “I’m just... not strong enough to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it, Fitz.”

A distinct brokenness hovered around her expression, and it sent a chill down Fitz’s spine. Although he believed her when she told him her feelings (his awe notwithstanding), in that moment he was almost able to quantify their depth. Perhaps she did need him as much as he needed her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice a little steadier than before. “For not... not thinking about that.”

“It was selfish.”

His brows furrowed, and he struggled with an instinctive jolt of defensiveness before he spoke again. “Alright, yeah. I guess I can see why you’d be a bit –”

“Very.” 

“... Very angry. Sorta.”

“Good.” Jemma pressed a kiss to his forehead, his nose, and then his mouth, and he smiled against her lips.

“So, are we still on for dinner tonight?” It was a poor attempt to change the subject, but she let it pass, shaking her head with a sad little smile. 

“You’ll be in here for a few days, I should think. Lincoln’s off hunting for other Inhumans, to see if there’s anyone who understands what happened in here.” She tapped two fingers on his temple, and he turned his head quickly enough to brush his lips against her wrist.

“Tests didn’t help?” 

“Not in a way I fully understand.” Sighing, she shifted her chair so that she could stretch out her legs under the bed while keeping one hand tightly entwined with his. “With Gordon gone and no access to Afterlife, we’re mostly flying blind about your biology now.” 

A nurse came in to check on one of the monitors (pointless with Jemma in the room, but they were both too polite to say so), and they waited in silence until he’d gone. Fitz glanced around the room and let out a low sigh at its familiarity. “Should just move my bunk into the hospital wing. Been spending enough time here this year.”

“I do hope that won’t be a problem anymore,” she replied, voice tight and lips thinning.

Clearing his throat, he fervently hoped for the same. “Guess dinner in bed’s the plan for tonight, then.”

“Ugh, Fitz!” She threw her head back, apparently genuinely annoyed, and he stared up at her. A laugh bubbled out of her slowly, perhaps a little more manic than intended, until she had to cover her mouth to muffle the sound. “I should have known that wouldn’t be much of a surprise, really.” Fitz blinked, waiting for her to catch her breath and straighten in her chair. “Sometimes that psychic link is extremely inconvenient." 

“Ah, sorry,” he said, giving her a sheepish grin. “Always did think too alike.”

“I’ll fetch food for you when you get hungry.” Glancing at a clock through the glass wall, she exhaled. “Bit past dinnertime for most people now.”

“Oh, Jemma....” He trailed off, expression lighting up. “Your sandwich?”

“Yours, really, by now,” she replied, squeezing his fingers. “But yes, that was the plan.”

Some of the achiness around his joints lessened at the idea of getting his favorite meal whenever next his stomach could handle food. “You’re brilliant, you are.” The immodest head tilt she gave him was especially adorable, and he thought briefly that he would never want her to be any other way.

As he watched her settle herself more comfortably in the black plastic chair, a warm smile spread across his face. “Hey,” he murmured, and tugged on her hand to get her attention. “We made it.”

Her answering smile was equally soft, eyes shining as she let out a brief sigh. “Yeah. And we’ll keep doing just that, okay? Making it no matter what.” 

Humming in agreement, he stretched slowly forward to press a kiss to the back of her hand. “I like the sound of that.”

And truly, he did. Neither of them were ever going to be out of danger, not completely – not as long as they continued to work for SHIELD. Until that point, Fitz and Jemma would have to remember that any hardship was easier to bear with two, and continue to fight on together.

Months ago, Fitz had believed that he’d finally been broken beyond repair, trapped in a glass room just like this, every door to happiness seemingly having been slammed shut in his face. Now he was lying in a room just like that one but the door was wide open, and he knew that Jemma would be beside him the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, there you have it - the last full chapter! next up is a much shorter epilogue. :-)


	16. Epilogue - After the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [After the Storm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqUsAHTUPTU) by Mumford and Sons.  
>         " _love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears_ "

_A few months later_

 

Fitz really had to stop spending so much time in the Playground’s hospital wing. It had a musky odor of sickness, and as much as he appreciated the smell of antiseptic in their lab, it seemed different there - familiar, rather than this acrid sort of sterility.

At this moment, however, there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be than here, by an unconscious Skye’s side. Hair fanned over the starched pillow and head tilted towards him, at least she looked peaceful after the day’s events.

“Any change?” Jemma carded her fingers through his hair by way of greeting, and he tilted his head back to give her a brief smile. In her sleep, Skye shifted on the mattress to fling one arm out in Fitz’s direction. 

“Nothing yet,” he answered, taking one of the two plastic cups of water Jemma held in her other hand. “Where’s Trip?” 

“He said he needed to work out some restless energy,” she said, chuckling at the exaggeratedly relieved eye-roll he gave her in return. Though they understood Trip’s anxiety about Skye, his incessant pacing by her bedside had been driving everyone else more a little crazy. “I promised to run and get him if she wakes up.”

Everyone at the base had been preparing for today for weeks, starting with the construction of a fully automated, airtight room in which Skye would undergo her transformation. Despite all the work they’d put in, there had been no real way to predict the outcome. As far as Fitz was concerned, having had a front seat to the whole day, it had gone better than they could have hoped.

“How long d’you think she’ll be out?”

Jemma sighed, reaching over for the most recent chart as she claimed the plastic chair next to him. “Honestly, I’m not sure. And keeping track of her vitals....”

“I know.”

“Her skin broke _three_ needles, Fitz,” she breathed, disbelief widening her eyes, and he smiled at the familiar expression of curiosity and wonder on her face. “And our needles aren’t toys! I shudder to think at what else she could withstand, now.” 

“A pretty good power, honestly. Being unbreakable.”

“So we assume,” she pointed out. Yawning, she stretched her legs out over his, and he wrapped one hand around her calves, automatically moving to massage her tense muscles. “Remember that Raina’s physical change came with something else as well.”

“Guess I was an underachiever,” he joked, eyes crinkling at her faux-annoyed _tsk_. “Poor, silly Fitz, can only –” 

“Manipulate the frequencies of everything in this universe, and possibly the next? Oh yes,” she deadpanned, nudging him by partially bending one leg, “a banal ability indeed.”

He laughed, ignoring the way his ears automatically warmed at the compliment. “Ah, well. You and Coulson agree, at least.”

“Oh no,” she said, twisting her mouth sympathetically. “He asked again?” 

“Yeah, this morning,” Fitz sighed. The Director’s interest in having him undergo more training so that he could join Skye’s team of Inhumans wasn’t surprising, but it was starting to get irksome. “When she’s back on her feet, I think I’m gonna have to ask her to officially reject my qualifications or something, say I’m unstable.”

“I never got to ask,” Jemma started, voice quieting and eyes drifting over to their unconscious friend. “How was she? In....”

Her voice trailed off, and he blew out a puff of air. “Terrified. Brave as hell.” 

The white cell into which he and Skye had locked themselves a few hours earlier had been eerily quiet, the room bare except for a small cot and the padded box that contained one of the Terrigen crystals retrieved from Jiaying’s stash. For a few minutes they’d just stood there chatting, about her plans for her new division and about his newest drone; he was more than willing to stay with her as long as she needed, or to take the crystal away if she changed her mind. The anxiety began to show on her face eventually, her eyes darting back to the crystal and her fingers tracing its box. At last, Skye had thrown her arms around Fitz’s neck before dashing the crystal against the wall, tears rolling down her cheeks as the rock crawled up her skin. Having her frozen into stone around him had been one of the more unnerving experiences of his life, but Fitz had held on anyway, waiting for the rock to flake away into Inhuman flesh.

“Sounds like our Skye.” Jemma squeezed his hand and he nodded as they watched Skye sleep, awed by her willingness to dive into an irreversible unknown from which he would have shied if given the chance. “You know, she’d love to have you out there with her,” Jemma started, switching topics again, “she’s said as much –”

“I know,” he snapped, wincing immediately at his own tone. “Sorry. I just... that’s not me, Jemma. I don’t want to do all that – fighting, killing people all the time. Having to figure out other people right away. It’s just not my area. I _like_ what I do – what we do.” She gave him a soft smile, one hand reaching out to curl around his, and he hitched her legs up a little higher on his lap. “Working in the lab most of the time, going into the field when we’re needed. I’m good at saving lives, just not in the way Coulson wants.” Chuckling, Fitz glanced back at her. “Too bloody skinny to be that kind of superhero, anyway.”

Jemma gave a little sniff and arched an eyebrow at him. “I’ll have you know that I think your body is quite well formed –”

“Can I have that in writing?”

“And you’re already my hero. No matter what you decide to do.” Her smile was one he knew well by now – the one made just for him - and he met her lips over her knees and the low arm of the chair, slipping one hand up to cup the back of her head. As familiar as her affection was by now, it still brought with it a new wash of pure, unadulterated happiness. A small laugh reverberated out of her throat, and she broke away, rubbing their noses together and curling her fingers around his wrist. 

“Although,” she continued, mischief lighting her eyes, “I’m rather pleased you’re not going anywhere. I’d hate to have to find a new lab partner.” Her gaze dipped suddenly, legs shifting so she was pressed even more tightly against him. “I missed you terribly when you were in the garage.” 

“Yeah,” Fitz murmured, nuzzling in for another kiss. “I’d much rather be in our lab.”

“Me, too.” The way she searched out his lips with her own made warmth spread out from his head to his toes, and he allowed himself a few moments to be grateful for the hell he’d endured to get here. For all he knew, if he’d never been forced to discover his abilities, he and Jemma may never have found a way to patch up their relationship, or have finally figured out that they both wanted the same thing after all: Each other. 

“Oh,” she exclaimed, swatting her knee as she pulled away. “I keep forgetting to say – you left your pajama trousers in my room this morning.” 

Fitz groaned lightly; that had been the third time this week he’d rushed out early and left the damned things behind. “Y’know I’m gonna keep forgetting them. It’d be a lot easier if we could just... stay. In the same room.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Jemma’s lips twitched in amusement. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

A flush threatened at the back of his neck, and he inhaled, not having really thought about it in that way until she’d said it. “Yeah,” he said at last, voice teasing, “a two-person bunk all our own.”

Jemma let a wide smile break across her face, and she leaned forward, brushing her nose against his again in an eskimo kiss. “No.”

“What?”

“Your bunk is a disaster,” she retorted, her laughter easing the nerves that had initially clenched his stomach. “And these rooms are so small, we can’t possibly fit both our things into one. How about we apply to get two bunks next to each other, use yours for storage, or if you, I don’t know, need some alone time, and use mine for everything else.”

“I like the sound of ‘everything else,’” he teased, pleased with the blush that bloomed on her cheeks. He raised one hand to her face, smoothing his thumb along the pinking skin. “But yeah, that makes sense.” 

“That way you can have a whole separate room to use as your own personal laundry dump –”

“Hey! I’ve been getting better –!” 

“Depends on your definition of better,” she muttered, darting forward for a brusque kiss. “How you can be so neat in our lab and such a mess at home, I’ll never understand.” 

Another smile ticked up his lips, and he ducked his head at her questioning look. “I, ah... ‘ _our_ lab.’ It’s just – nice. Getting used to hearing it again, that’s all.”

With a happy sigh, Jemma wrapped one arm around his waist, curling herself around his side as much as possible. “Our lab, our room.” She paused, tucking her head against his shoulder. “Our life.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, downplaying the thickness of his voice. “Ours.” 

With a quick glance at Skye to make sure she was still sleeping peacefully, Fitz snugged Jemma tighter against his chest, absently combing his fingers through the loose waves of her hair. Nothing about the past two years of his life had been the least bit expected, but he was unabashedly thrilled with how things had turned out. He’d learned to be strong in ways he didn’t know he could be, he had friends who would do anything to help him (and he would do the same for them), and, best of all, Jemma was once again by his side.

The world was completely different than it used to be. And, at long last, Fitz was perfectly okay with the change. 

 

**_Fin_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy hell. just under 11 months after I decided to start writing this AU, we've finally reached its conclusion. 
> 
> a huge thank you again to MK, for being so supportive of the endeavor writ large and for betaing the whole damn thing. [eclecticmuses](http://eclecticmuses.tumblr.com/) also deserves her own shout-out for letting me be neurotic to her about pretty much everything under the sun during that time, and for encouraging me when I really needed it. (you can also thank her for the existence of this final scene, the idea for which cropped up when she was dismayed by my teasing about all the angst in the last chapter.)
> 
> lastly, a huge thank you to everyone who's ever left comments - your investment in this AU helped me keep going even when real life was eating up all my free time. I hope you got something out of reading it, as I certainly did in writing it. :-)


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